Everlong
by The Talentless Hack
Summary: AU, SaitouTokio. “Hello, I’ve waited here for you, Everlong…”
1. Chapter the First

**A/N:** Yeah…I have no business starting yet another project.

Oh well.

Title is (again) inspired by the fabulous Foo Fighters, in this case my favorite Foo song of all time. I think it pretty well encapsulates my idea of Saitou and Tokio in this particular incarnation (and possibly in other incarnations).

This is an idea I've been mulling over for some time (read: at least a year). Because it's holiday themed in these first few chapters, and as we are currently running "The Great Holiday Gamut," I felt like posting it. So, there's the rationale behind that.

As usual, your thoughts, comments and what-have-you are greatly appreciated.

That said, I sign off with: **Happy Thanksgiving!

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Disclaimer: Not mine, not now, not ever.

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_Everlong_

_XoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoX_

**Chapter the First**

_XoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoX_

Misao Saitou was the utter and complete opposite of both of her parents. Her father was, in her own words, an uptight hard-ass, and her mother was, also in her own words, an uptight and very easily irritable workaholic.

So when they got divorced when she was ten, she wasn't really that surprised.

In fact, she was relieved, because that meant the fighting would stop.

Or not.

"I'm aware of that fact, Yaso," her father, Hajime, snapped into the phone while he was making breakfast.

Misao watched him from the counter solemnly. Now sixteen, she and her father very rarely agreed on anything. He was strict with her, and sometimes, Misao wished he was a little less anal retentive. But at least he wasn't as high-strung and inconstant as her mother—Misao always got the feeling her mother didn't know what to do with her. At least her father had definite ideas on how he wanted to bring her up, his heavy-handedness aside.

The truth was, despite her complaints about him, she was glad she lived with him. She always felt neglected when she had to see her mother, like she was only tolerated, never really wanted. Her father might have been hard on her a lot of the time, but he had his moments when he was actually pretty cool, and she had never once felt like an imposition.

"Your fuck-up is not my emergency!" Saitou said, and Misao sighed and wearily held her chin up with her fist.

_Like Dad really needs to be even more stressed out_, she thought, a little irritably.

He had recently been promoted to the position of Dean of the College of Law at the local university, and it hadn't been a smooth transition for him. There had been a lot of budget cuts right after he'd taken the position, and he'd had to fight tooth and nail for every penny the college had gotten, on top of adjusting to the new demands on him. (Misao hadn't been all that surprised when she'd heard that the College of Law had been able to get a fairly substantial amount, all things considered, from the new budget—her father was relentless when he wanted something. There was a reason people called him the Wolf.) He'd been on edge a lot during that time, with the result that Misao had found being in the same house with him unbearable. She'd spent a lot of time at her best friend Kaoru's house to avoid him. He'd gotten a little better now that the budget talks were over, but he still had to deal with a lot of unhappy people within his college, and that meant he was still a little tense.

Today they'd been having a rare good day; it was the first Sunday in a long time when he wasn't so inundated with work problems that they were able to go back to their usual Sunday routine, which had consisted of sleeping late, a pancake breakfast and going through the Sunday paper together. Her favorite part was doing the crossword with him—Saitou's knowledge of the obscure and unusual continually amazed her, even now.

That had been shot all to hell when her mother had called.

Sometimes, Misao wondered how her parents had ever tolerated each other long enough to have her—it seemed to her that she'd never seen or heard them do anything but fight. It frankly mystified her that they had ever looked at each other and thought marriage was a good idea.

"Fine, then," Saitou said, and then viciously pressed the off button on the phone before setting it down on the counter a little harder than he needed to.

Misao watched him quietly. He was scowling, thin lips in a really ferocious frown. She hated it when he scowled; it made all the lines in his face deeper, made him look old, and he wasn't really—he'd only turned forty-two at the beginning of this year.

The gray touching his temples didn't help. Those were new, though—they'd started showing up about the time he'd been named Dean.

"Your mother can't take you this weekend coming up," he said.

That made the third weekend she'd missed.

Misao didn't mind at all.

"That's okay," Misao said, shrugging. "I told you I don't really like staying with Mom, anyway."

"Doesn't matter," he said.

"What's the matter, Dad, are you sick of me?" she teased, grinning, hoping to get him back into his former good mood.

"That's not why I'm annoyed," he muttered irritably. "She wants you for New Year's instead of Thanksgiving this year."

At that, the grin on Misao's face faded.

Since her parents' divorce, she had always spent Christmas and New Year's with her father, and Thanksgiving with her mother. She had been perfectly fine with this arrangement, especially because her father's birthday was New Year's Day. She loved being the first person to be able to wish him a happy birthday, a silly thing leftover from childhood that still amused him to no end. She was also happy he didn't have to spend his birthday alone—her father didn't have a lot of friends, and the few he did he saw infrequently. He wasn't really a sociable guy, which was evidenced by the fact that he didn't mind spending his birthday with his daughter, and no one else, for company.

"No," Misao said.

He sighed.

"Misao—" he began wearily.

"No! I never spend New Year's with her! Why would she even think about—"

"You can ask her the next time you talk to her," Saitou interrupted. "She didn't deign to tell me why, she only said she'd be willing to trade Thanksgiving for New Year's."

"I don't want to spend New Year's with her," Misao muttered churlishly, folding her arms across her chest and glaring at the countertop.

"Stop that," he ordered. "Don't talk like that about your mother, Misao."

"It's your birthday, though," she said, voice small and worried.

He shrugged.

"What's one birthday?" he asked. "I'm just irritated she didn't tell me about this sooner—Thanksgiving's this week."

Which was an odd thing to say, unless you knew Grandma Saitou. Grandma Saitou expected her children to RSVP for Thanksgiving well in advance so that she'd be able to set her table accordingly. When Misao had been a kid, and gone to her Grandma Saitou's every other Thanksgiving, she had always been amazed by how beautiful everything looked; it had looked like something out of a magazine, even the kids' table (Grandma Saitou had always decked it out as nicely as she did the grown ups' table, the only difference being that everything the kids used was plastic—pretty plastic, mind, but plastic all the same). Her father's side of the family was huge, which was the only reason Grandma Saitou insisted on knowing exactly who was coming and who wasn't—she spent days in preparation for a Thanksgiving dinner that on average fed twenty people.

Grandma Saitou's having to magically produce two extra place settings and food for at least two helpings for those settings wasn't what was on Misao's mind, though—it was the fact that, for the first time in seventeen years, her father was going to be completely alone on his birthday. Because New Year's was always just the two of them, sitting in the living room watching the ball drop; it was always sparkling apple cider (no champagne, no matter how much she begged) in a couple of wine glasses that he kept solely for that occasion; it was always a little cake she'd bought for him by saving up her allowance or, more recently, putting money aside from the part time job she'd finally been able to talk him into letting her get; it was always her singing him happy birthday and then insisting that he make a wish, and him dutifully humoring her before he blew out the candles and thanked her. And she knew her father, creature of habit that he was, wouldn't go out just because she wasn't there with him this time. He'd sit in the living room by himself with his lone glass of sparkling apple cider keeping him company to watch the ball drop, and that knowledge made her heart plummet into her stomach.

"It's one birthday, Misao," he said. "I'll live."

Misao watched him.

"Promise you'll go somewhere for New Year's and not just stay home?" she asked.

He sent her a flat look.

"_Dad_."

"All right Weasel, fine, I promise."

"Daaad! Don't call me that! I am _not_ a weasel!"

As usual, he completely ignored her, and Misao huffed.

"So when are you telling Mom she can take me away from you on New Year's?" she asked after a pause.

"I not going to, you are—and don't say it like that," he added. "You're the one who decided it, not her."

Misao's jaw dropped. "You didn't tell me it was my choice! I changed my mind, I don't want to."

"Too late, that was a time-sensitive offer that expired exactly one minute ago," he replied.

"Daaad! Noooo! Please!"

"Call your mother and let her know," he said. "She mentioned she hasn't talked to you in a while."

"Wow, you mean she actually _noticed_?" Misao asked sarcastically.

"I'll burn your pancakes and I won't share mine if you keep acting like a brat," he said mildly.

"You're mean," she muttered, slipping off the stool and going over to grab the phone.

"So I hear," he said dryly as she passed him, going into the living room and plopping down on the couch.

Saitou was always trying to get her to talk to her mother more, but Misao wasn't interested because most of the time, Yaso wasn't either—this was the same woman, after all, who sometimes went months without seeing her daughter because she kept cancelling her weekends with her. She talked about girl type things with Kaoru's mom anyway, so it wasn't like she was lacking in maternal guidance or anything.

With a sigh, Misao dialed her mother's cell phone and glumly waited for her to pick up. She almost got away with not having to talk to her, but Yaso picked up just before her voicemail would have come on, and Misao grimaced:

"_What_, Hajime?" Yaso snapped.

"It's me, Mom," she said dully.

"Oh hi honey!" Yaso said, voice going from annoyed to cheerful. "How are you?"

"Fine."

"How's school?"

"Fine."

"Got a boyfriend yet?"

"No." She didn't mention that she had an enormous crush on Aoshi Shinomori—the absolutely _gorgeous_ grandson of one of Grandpa Saitou's friends that she saw every year at Christmas—mostly because she had never shared this kind of information with her mother.

"No doubt due to your father," Yaso said, sounding amused, but Misao caught the sharp undertone and frowned.

This was another reason she disliked talking to her mother—for whatever reason, Yaso always took these little digs at him. Misao was almost positive that it was because she preferred her father over her mother, and her mother knew it.

"I don't want a boyfriend, actually," Misao said, lying through her teeth—she was one of the few girls in her grade that didn't currently have a boyfriend, and the only one (to her knowledge, at any rate) who had never had one, period, and she desperately wanted to not be a lonely loser. "I'd rather concentrate on school."

"Well, that's all well and good, honey, but you only get to do high school once, you know."

"I know."

_You only tell me __**every**__ time I talk to you._

"So, did your father tell you about New Year's?"

"Yeah."

"And?"

"…I guess I could stay with you for New Year's."

"Well you don't sound very enthusiastic," Yaso complained, and Misao rolled her eyes.

"I'm tired, sorry," she said. "I was at Kaoru's late last night."

"You really want to stay with me for New Year's?"

"Yes, Mom."

"Oh, good! I was hoping you would. We'll be going to New York."

Misao blinked.

"New York?" she repeated. "We're going to New York? Like, we'll be in Times Square?"

"Yup! Doesn't that sound like fun?" Yaso asked cheerfully.

Yeah, it kinda did. The only thing missing would be…

_Dad._

"Sounds awesome," Misao said, frowning, as her gaze shot to the kitchen; she could just make out her father before the stove, eyeing the pancakes so they didn't burn.

Her mother attempted to start conversation, but Misao wasn't interested, and after fifteen minutes, Yaso realized that and let her go.

"Tell your father I'll talk to him later about New Year's," she said, sounding irritated—Misao knew it was because she'd spent most of their phone conversation not paying attention.

"Okay. 'Bye Mom."

Yaso sighed. "'Bye Misao."

Misao pressed the off button, then leaned her head back and frowned thoughtfully, gnawing on her bottom lip.

She considered her mother's plans for New Year's and decided they were suspect. Misao didn't take vacations with her mother—they only went to go visit her mother's brothers in the next county over, two men who loathed her father (a feeling which was entirely mutual). In fact, when summer came around and she spent a month with her mother, she actually spent a great deal of that month with her uncles, who took her to water and theme parks, which was as close to a real vacation as she got. Yaso occasionally joined them; most of the time she was working.

So it was highly suspicious that her mother wanted to take her to New York for New Year's.

"Weasel," Saitou called. "Pancakes."

"I'm not a weasel!" Misao irritably shot back, sitting up to glare at him over the back of the couch.

"I'm eating them all and not leaving you any," he said, his threat all the more sinister given the mild tone of his voice.

"I'm comin'," Misao muttered, vaulting herself over the back of the couch the way he hated, just to be contrary.

A trait she had inherited from him, in spades.

He was sitting at the counter with his coffee and the paper when she arrived, reading glasses perched at the edge of his nose. That was something else that was new (well, new-ish; he'd had to get them a year ago when he could no longer put off needing them and had had to give in to the march of time), and it annoyed him to no end. Misao told him he looked even more professorly with them, which he had not found nearly as amusing as she had.

Her breakfast sat at the seat she'd vacated, with a glass of orange juice and a glass of milk. Her stack of pancakes was considerably taller than his.

Misao plopped into her seat, then nudged him gently.

"Arts, please," she said, and he picked up a neatly folded sheaf of newsprint she hadn't noticed and wordlessly handed it to her, still reading.

"Thanks," she said, taking it and shaking it out and then folding it just so, before attacking her pancakes with syrup and fork and knife.

They read quietly over breakfast. Once they'd finished eating, their plates went into the sink with lots of water, Saitou poured himself a second cup of coffee, and they moved to the living room to sit (or sprawl, in Misao's case) on the couch to do the crossword.

"Mom wants to take me to New York for New Year's," she told him while they were staring at the crossword.

"Does she?" he asked, voice quiet and thoughtful.

Misao rolled her eyes. "Dad, did you hear me?"

"Yes I did. I'm also attempting to figure out fifteen down."

"Don't you think that's weird?" Misao whined.

"I think it's weird that you're complaining about it," he muttered, taking the pen from her.

"I fill them in," she said, snatching it back.

"Then do your job," he said.

"I didn't hear any answers," she said, raising both eyebrows.

"I'll shave those eyebrows off," he said, pinning her with his Dad Glare, made all the more effective because his eyes were amber.

Luckily she was (mostly) inured to its potency from years of exposure.

"What are you, fifteen?" she asked, pouting at him.

"No, and speaking of which, 15 down is _Orca_," he said.

"It is?"

"'1977 movie with the tagline "Terror just beneath the surface"'," he read. "_Orca_ came out the summer of 1977, and it has four letters."

"You remember that? Man you're _old_, Dad," she asked, and he sent her a dark look.

"Your turn," he said pointedly, and Misao shrugged and filled in his answer for 15 down, then went to her next clue.

She read it, then smirked and scribbled in her answer:

"Of course," Saitou muttered when he saw "Ritchie" appear in 10 across' boxes. "Why am I not surprised you didn't have to think about that one at all?"

"You like _Snatch_, Dad," she pointed out.

"I also like dags," he said dryly, and she snorted.

"And ze Germans?" she asked, and he reached over and roughly ruffled her hair.

"Especially ze Germans," he said. "What's next?"

"Uh…'2000 Jennifer Lopez thriller', seven letters," Misao said, then looked up at her father.

Saitou was looking off, brow wrinkled in concentration.

"Is she the one with the tiny skeleton husband?" he asked, and Misao burst out laughing.

"Yes," she said.

"Hn." His eyes narrowed, and Misao knew he was consulting the vast store of useless information he had filed away in his head—it was the one thing he was good for, so he liked to joke. "_The Cell_."

"It's cool that you can do that, but also really creepy," Misao said, filling in his answer.

"Then my job is done," he said, giving her braid a tug. "I thought you were going to chop all your hair off."

She sent him an odd look.

"You were ranting about how much of a pain in the ass long hair is last week," he said.

"You heard that?" she asked, unable to keep from being amazed even though it was something she really ought to have been used to by now; Hajime Saitou missed nothing, even the most inane.

"Yes. Contrary to popular belief, you've not yet deafened me with your frequent bellowing," he said, flipping her braid. "I expect you to any day now, however."

She hadn't thought her father, locked away in his study, could hear her and Kaoru in the kitchen. She had been especially irritated with her hair that day, and had told Kaoru that she was going to hack it all off.

"I'm not that loud," she said petulantly.

"No, not at all," he said, insincerity in his tone.

"Mean," she said, reaching up to tug on one of his crazy bangs.

"Yes—your turn." he said, gesturing to the crossword with his nose.

Misao went back to the crossword with a faint smile.

Apparently, she wasn't the only one who'd missed their Sunday morning routine.

_XoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoX_

The day wasn't nearly as peaceful in the Kamiya household.

Kaoru Kamiya had started her day to the sound of her little brother Yahiko pounding on her door, ordering her to get up before he grabbed his water gun and took dire measures. When she'd finally dragged herself out of bed and properly threatened her brother for even thinking of using his water gun on her, she thumped downstairs and to the kitchen, and found her mother Tokio and older brother Sanosuke at the stove, arguing over how to cook breakfast.

"You're _awake_?" Kaoru asked, staring at her brother incredulously.

"Wow, nice hair, Kao," Sano said with a grin when he turned toward her.

Kaoru glared at him, then sent him a smug, victorious look when Tokio, with a meaningful look at her very tall son's very messy hair, said,

"Sano, sweetheart, you _really_ can't say anything."

Suitably cheerful, Kaoru bounded over to her mother, wrapped her arms around the older woman's waist from behind, and squeezed.

"Morning Mommy," she said cheerfully.

"Good morning baby," Tokio said, wiggling around to throw an arm around her daughter. "How'd you sleep?"

"Awesome, until that booger woke me up." Kaoru said churlishly.

"Dreaming of Kenshin?" Sano asked slyly, and Kaoru glared at him.

She hadn't, as a matter of fact (she remembered herrings and an orchestra, but no amethyst-eyed redheads with impeccable politesse), but it irritated her that Sano should bring up her not-so-secret crush, who also happened to be his best friend.

"You're leaving this afternoon, right?" she asked pointedly, and Sano sent her a completely contrived wounded look.

"Baby sister, that hurts," he said, hand over his heart.

"_Whatever_," Kaoru muttered, and Tokio laughed.

"I'm glad you're here, Kao," she said. "We need a tie-breaker: Sano says waffles, I say omelets. Your call."

Kaoru's eyes lit up:

"Waffles," she said. "You haven't made waffles in _forever_!"

"Baby sister has redeemed herself!" Sano declared, fist pumping into the air. "Waf-fles, waf-fles, waf-fles, waf-fles!"

Kaoru and her mother rolled their eyes, and then Tokio rubbed a hand up and down Kaoru's shoulder.

"Waffles it is, then," she said. "Sano, you're helping me."

Sano's celebrating cut short when he sent his mother an almost betrayed look, but it quickly morphed into understanding when he glanced at Kaoru, and Kaoru flushed.

She knew her mother had told Sano he was helping more for "punishment" than anything (because if Sano could get away with not lifting a finger, he considered the day successful), but the fact of the matter was, even if she hadn't been punishing her son, she wouldn't have asked Kaoru for help. Sano _could_ actually cook, he was just lazy—Kaoru, on the other hand, was the Kiss of Death in a kitchen, and she had been since she could remember.

"I could help," Kaoru said, looking at her mother.

Tokio sent her a surprised look.

"Oh?" she asked.

"Yeah," Kaoru said, silently praying her mother wouldn't ask questions.

Tokio cocked her head and eyed her, then shrugged.

"Okay," she said, giving her a squeeze.

"Mom, you remember Kaoru can burn water in a pan, right?" Sano asked, and Kaoru sent him a black look and smacked his arm. "_Ow_," he said, looking down at her, one eyebrow raised.

"Liar, that didn't hurt and you know it," Kaoru muttered.

"It stung a little," Sano protested. "Like a mosquito bite."

"You suck," Kaoru muttered.

"All right, Sano, you're on Table and Yahiko-wrangling Duty, then," Tokio said, moving toward the pantry to get the dry ingredients for the waffles.

"Mooom," Sano whined.

"If you're not helping me cook, you're helping me somehow." Tokio singsonged.

"You had children for the child labor, didn't you?" Sano asked.

"Oh no, I've been found out," Tokio said dryly.

"That's illegal," Sano said.

"But child labor is so cheap," Tokio replied.

"I'm nineteen," Sano said, suddenly brightening. "I'm not a kid anymore."

"In body, perhaps, dear heart, but not in mind," Tokio said smoothly, and Kaoru let out a snort of laughter.

"Low blow!" Sano complained.

"I'll try to aim higher, hon," Tokio promised, and Sano pouted, then stuck his nose up into the air and marched out of the kitchen, stopping only to grab napkins as he went.

"You forgot the silverware!" Kaoru yelled after him.

"The napkins have to be folded first!" Sano yelled back.

Kaoru rolled her eyes.

"My brother is useless," she muttered, and Tokio laughed, returning to her daughter's side with the dry components.

"He's just a boy, hon," she said, setting everything down. "And sometimes boys are dumb, just like sometimes girls are silly. Can you get the wet stuff from the fridge, please?"

"What do you need?" Kaoru asked, already going over to the refrigerator.

"Eggs, butter and buttermilk." Tokio said, already digging through the cabinets for the old waffle iron, humming cheerfully.

Kaoru had fond memories of watching her parents make breakfast on Sunday mornings, as it had always been the one day both of them had off from their respective jobs. For a long time, when she and Sano had been younger, Sunday mornings had been waffle days, and they had sat at the counter and watched their parents prepare breakfast, laughing and joking the whole time. She'd been surprised and hurt when her parents had gotten divorced when she was eight, but she was luckier than her best friend Misao; her parents got along very well and were good friends, whereas Misao's parents barely seemed able to stand each other.

"Is Daddy coming over for breakfast today?" Kaoru asked.

"I dunno. You wanna call him and ask?" Tokio offered, pausing in her search for the waffle iron.

"Okay," Kaoru said, setting down the egg carton and the butter dish before grabbing the phone and dialing her father's house phone.

He answered after two rings:

"Hello?"

"Hi Daddy!" Kaoru said, smiling.

"Hi princess!" Koshijirou said cheerfully. "How's my girl?"

"Okay. I just wanted to know if you were gonna come over for breakfast today. Mom's making waffles."

"Oooo, Mom makes killer waffles," Koshijirou said. "I'm there. I'll be over in twenty, okay?"

"Okay! See you soon!"

"'Bye princess."

"'Bye!" She hung up and bounded over to the refrigerator to grab the buttermilk. "Daddy said he'd be over in twenty minutes," she told her mother.

"Tell Sano so he can set a place for Dad," Tokio said, having finally found the waffle iron and managed to heft it up on the counter.

Kaoru left the wet ingredients on the counter for her mother, then went out into the dining room. She found Sano sitting at the table, tongue peeking out of the corner of his mouth in concentration as he carefully folded the napkins into…well, _something_, she supposed.

"What are you _doing_?" she asked, frowning.

"Origami napkins," Sano answered.

Kaoru rolled her eyes.

"Dad's coming for breakfast, so Mom says to set a place for him," she said, deciding not to make commentary about the "origami napkins."

Sano looked up, surprised but pleased.

"Dad's coming? Sweet! I didn't think I'd be able to see him this time." he said.

"You're gonna see him on Thanksgiving," she pointed out.

"Yeah, but I haven't seen him in like…two months or something. He's been working overtime. You and Yahiko are lucky," he added. "Whenever you guys wanna see him, you can. I have to drive four hours if I wanna see him."

Kaoru supposed he had a point; Sano was going to college several miles away. He came down whenever he could, and most weekends he was home so it was like he'd never left at all, but he hadn't been able to come back as often recently. It was something that disappointed Kaoru and Yahiko considerably, most recently when he hadn't been able to come down for Halloween—they had planned to go out trick or treating together, with Misao and their friend Kamatari Honjou; Kenshin, and Sano's other friends Katsuhiko Tsukioka and Chou Sawagejou (though Kaoru sometimes wondered whether the latter could even be considered a friend, given how often he and Sano fought); and Yahiko's friend and sometimes rival Yutarou Tsukayama. But at the last minute Sano had had to cancel the trip down: two of the people in his study group had dropped the ball and he and Kenshin had instead spent Halloween night with the other responsible members of their group trying to fill in the gaps before Monday's (very important) exam.

What had made it even worse was that everyone had spent a lot of money on their costumes, and the group had had a theme; the result was that the theme had been incomplete, and Kenshin and Sano had essentially wasted their money on costumes they had ended up not even being able to use.

It had been, everyone later agreed, one of the more disappointing Halloweens in recent memory.

"Is he still dating that chick?" Sano asked, cocking his head to one side.

"What chick?" Kaoru asked blankly, before the question actually processed: "Oh, you mean Omasu! Yeah, still. They got a cat, I think. Or they're getting a cat. I forgot which it was."

Sano rolled his eyes, then called out:

"Mom! Did Dad and Omasu get a cat?"

"Yes!" Tokio yelled back. "Last week! They named it Shiro, I think!"

Sano sent Kaoru a dry look.

"That's how you get shit done," he said.

"If you're a savage, I suppose," she said, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Watch it, or I won't bring Kenshin down with me anymore," he warned, wagging a finger at her.

"Shut up!" she snarled, and he grinned and reached out and gave her messy ponytail a light tug.

"I think it's cute," he said.

"Whatever," she said, blushing dully.

As much as he teased her about it, though, Kaoru knew Sano would never tell Kenshin about her massive crush on him. Her brother was nice like that.

Kaoru returned to the kitchen to help her mother with the waffles, and Sano went back for the silverware and plates and glasses, then went hunting for Yahiko. The last of the first batch of waffles had just gone into the oven to keep warm when someone started knocking at the back door, and Kaoru went to open it and found her father there, bundled up against the cool air.

"Hi princess!" Koshijirou said, reaching for her and wrapping her in a bear hug.

"Hi Daddy!" Kaoru said, squeezing her father back, then moving aside to let him in.

"Hi Mom," Koshijirou said to Tokio with a grin as he shrugged out of his jacket and scarf and hung them by the door.

"Hi Dad," Tokio replied, smiling. "How's Omasu? Why didn't she come?"

"She's got a nasty case of the flu, so she's stuck in bed," he answered, taking his cap off and placing it on top of his scarf, then going to Tokio's side and kissing her cheek. "Shiro is keeping her company."

"Ah, I see," Tokio said, amused. "Good thing he's around."

"He's a pretty decent hot pack, believe it or not," Koshijirou said, grabbing a cup from the cabinet and going to the coffee maker. "Where're the boys?"

"I think Sano went to find Yahiko," Tokio said.

"'Find'?" Koshijirou looked amused. "The house isn't _that_ big, hon."

Tokio smirked.

"Yahiko can be resourceful at hiding himself," she said.

"That right?" Koshijirou set his mug down, then cupped his hands around his mouth. "Guys! I'm here!"

There was a pause, and then two sets of footsteps began pounding on the floorboards on the second floor, getting closer and closer. The footsteps then pounded down the kitchen stairs, and Yahiko and Sano burst into the kitchen, Yahiko barreling straight into his father.

"Dad!" he yelled.

"Hey there!" Koshijirou said, laughing, as he grabbed his youngest son and swung him up. "I was beginning to think only Kao and Mom still loved me."

"No, we just love you best," Kaoru said smugly, grinning; Tokio laughed and went back to the waffle iron.

As soon as Tokio had made enough waffles for everyone to have seconds, the five of them moved to the dining room. When Koshijirou saw the table, he laughed and said,

"I see Sano set the table."

There were little mangled origami napkins at each place setting.

"They're supposed to be cranes," Sano said sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck and grinning.

"They're very nice," Tokio assured him with a smile.

"For retarded cranes," Yahiko said, then yelped when his mother smacked the back of his head. "They're nice," he amended, rubbing the back of his head and wincing.

Kaoru snorted.

Just another typical Sunday in the Kamiya household.


	2. Chapter the Second

Disclaimer: Not mine, not now, not ever.

* * *

_Everlong_

_XoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoX_

**Chapter the Second**

_XoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoX_

God save him from his life.

Hajime Saitou sat in his serviceable car, staring morosely at the little horn emblazoned on the center of the steering wheel. It was Monday, and he had learned to positively _hate_ Mondays in the past few months.

The truth was, Saitou would have been content to be a faceless body in the College of Law until the day he decided to retire. He had liked being a professor, no one to answer to but the Dean, responsible only for his lectures and the occasional talk and article in some law journal or another of note. If it had been up to him, he would have been happiest just lecturing, but university policy stipulated he had to publish at a fairly consistent rate; it was a predicament many of his colleagues found themselves in, but it was a minor annoyance, at worst.

At the end of the Spring Term, however, the Dean had suddenly announced he was leaving, and that was when life had gotten very complicated, very fast.

Saitou had never for a second thought about becoming Dean of the College. The fact was, he still wasn't entirely sure how he'd ended up taking on the position.

He _was_ sure, however, that he was pretty well stuck in it.

Saitou sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. He'd spent much of the Summer Term inundated with paperwork pertaining to the budget crisis, and even with it officially over, the aftermath refused to _go away and die_, already. People and their complaints streamed into his office daily. Despite the fact that he'd pushed hard and run roughshod over quite a few of the other Colleges, all in an effort to make sure the College of Law wasn't affected too badly by the budget cuts, there had been a drastic reduction in what the College could realistically offer for Fall Term.

And people were pissed off at him.

A _lot_ of people.

That he was still technically a part of the lecturing faculty, and was subject to the same restrictions they were, didn't appear to help his position at all; professors were raising hell about the way their schedules had been rearranged, and the best he could offer was his sincerest apologies. And students wanting to be cleared to sign up for closed classes had been finagling their way into the office to complain, too. Enough that he was beginning to suspect that someone was pointing them his way on purpose.

It was getting to the point that last week, he'd flat out told his secretary that he refused to see anybody, he didn't care if the president of the university himself was knocking down the door. In addition, he'd told her to say she had no idea where he was or when he'd be getting in, and had no way of reaching him.

He'd been reduced to _hiding_ in his office until nearly ten o'clock.

It was a frankly disgraceful state of affairs.

Wearily, Saitou started the car and pulled away from the curb. He'd dropped off Misao as usual, and for her sake, he'd pretended he didn't hate the idea of having to go to work. She was still upset about not being with him for his birthday, and he didn't want to give her cause to tell her mother she'd changed her mind—Yaso would flip a shit, and he had enough problems without adding his harpy ex-wife into the mix.

He drove to the coffee shop he usually hit before work, though no longer for coffee; his nerves were so shot these days that coffee only upset his stomach and made his days shittier, so he'd switched to green tea on the recommendation of one of the other coffee shop patrons.

At the thought of her, his mood improved slightly.

She called him Professor and he called her Hot Lips, as in Hot Lips Houlihan of _MASH_ fame, because he always saw her in scrubs, and because she happened to be a very good-looking woman. He'd always seen her there—and always been nagged by the vague thought that she looked familiar to him for some reason that remained irritatingly elusive—but had never spoken to her until she'd asked him one day, tone politely curious, why he ordered coffee if he found it so distasteful. When he'd said he needed the caffeine, she'd smiled (perfectly straight, white teeth that were either the work of phenomenally good genes or a first rate orthodontist) and said green tea was probably a better, and healthier, pick-me-up. As he'd already ordered his coffee, he was well and truly stuck with it, but when he'd gotten to work he'd done a little research and decided she might be onto something. The next day, he'd ordered green tea in lieu of coffee, and had been spared the need to pop antacid tablets until his stomach settled.

It had been the beginning of a pleasant friendship.

When he arrived, she was already in line; she saw him and smiled and waved him over.

"Hi there!" she said cheerfully. "Saved you a spot in line, Professor," she added, and he smiled.

"You're too kind," he said with a meaningful look at the people standing behind her.

Thankfully, no one was in the mood to fuss, so he was able to join her without uproar.

"How was your weekend?" she asked.

"Scattering of inclement weather," he said, remembering his "conversation" with Yaso, "but sunny overall. Yours?"

"Loud and rowdy," she said with a grin. "My oldest son was down from college. We've been missing him."

"Haven't seen him in a while?"

"No—he's been busy busy busy. He's gotten skinny, too," she added with a touch of despair, and he grinned.

"And you, no doubt, used the weekend to try and fatten him up," he said.

"It's my most solemn duty as his mother," she agreed, and he chuckled.

They made it to the register and put in their orders—green tea—then went to the side counter to wait for their drinks with everyone else.

Saitou thoughtfully considered his companion from the corner of his eye. He still found it impossible that she was old enough to have a college-age son, but there it was. She looked so young—_too_ young.

Then again, pinpointing a woman's age was a tricky business…not to mention an occasionally hazardous one.

Their orders came up, and they retreated to a warm corner of the room to huddle over their drinks and talk some more. Usually, Saitou detested small talk, but she made it easy for him, and less tedious than he usually found it.

"Any big plans for Thanksgiving?" she asked.

He shrugged. "We'll be going to my parents' for dinner. It'll be the first Thanksgiving in a while that my daughter will be having dinner with my side of the family."

"You and your ex-wife don't switch off holidays?" she asked.

He marveled that he didn't feel like she was being nosy; it was because she always asked potentially prying questions in a tone that indicated only a desire to understand the facts of a situation rather than unseemly curiosity or interest.

"No. She's always had her for Thanksgiving, and I've always had her for Christmas and New Year's."

"Ah, she traded you a holiday," Hot Lips said with a grin, figuring out what he wasn't telling her.

"Mm-hm."

"Which one, if you don't mind my asking?"

"New Year's. Apparently, my ex-wife is taking her to New York."

"Oooo, sounds fun!" Hot Lips said. "Is your daughter excited?"

Saitou snorted, remembering Misao's aghast expression.

"Hardly," he said. "She's dead-set against it."

Hot Lips' eyebrows shot up into her bangs.

"Huh," she said. "Didn't see that coming."

"She's superb at throwing curveballs," Saitou said dryly, and Hot Lips laughed. "What are your plans for Thanksgiving?"

"It's my year to host," she said with a groan, and he smiled. "Don't get me wrong, I love having everyone get together, but all that _cooking_—ugh! My ex is the one who likes cooking. When we were married, Thanksgiving dinner was all him. I just baked the pumpkin pies, and peeled and chopped potatoes, it was _fantastic_."

Saitou laughed. It was an opinion he was familiar with, as Yaso had expressed a similar distaste for cooking Thanksgiving dinner when they were married. It was why they'd always eaten at their parents', one year with his, one year with hers.

"Any chance you could get him to take care of dinner for you?" he asked, only half kidding; he'd learned the relationship between her and her ex-husband was far more amicable than his relationship with Yaso.

Enough that he occasionally envied her—what he wouldn't give for that kind of tranquility in that aspect of his private life.

"No," she said with a pout. Then she brightened a little. "But he might help, if I asked really, really nicely."

"Sounds better than nothing," he said, sipping his tea, and becoming dismayed when he realized he was almost done—with his tea gone, he'd have no legitimate excuse to linger.

Then he'd have to go to work.

_Shit._

He nursed his tea while they continued discussing holiday plans, and hadn't realized he'd been obvious about it until Hot Lips, smiling in noticeable amusement, asked,

"So I guess work is still an unappealing prospect, Professor?"

He blinked, startled by the question.

"I'm sorry?"

"You haven't touched your tea in the last fifteen minutes," she pointed out, smile widening.

He deflated a little.

"Oh," he said gloomily, and she laughed and gave his arm a sympathetic pat.

"It'll get better," she assured. "You said it was a big change, and change always takes some getting used to."

"This change goes from bad to worse," he muttered, frowning. "I've been reduced to hiding in my office and having my secretary lie about where I am to get a moment's peace."

"It's always darkest before the dawn," she said. "Once people adjust, it'll ease up. You just have to buckle down and ride out the bad bits for a little while longer."

He shrugged listlessly, expression morose as he stared down at his drink.

"I suppose," he said, though he didn't really believe it, and he knew it showed in his voice.

Hot Lips patted his arm again and smiled kindly.

"I still wonder how they managed to rope you into taking over a position you clearly have no desire to be in," she said.

He snorted. "You and me both," he said, finishing off his drink reluctantly.

They threw the empty containers away and walked out together, Saitou's spirits considerably dampened by the reminder that his job—and all the headaches it entailed—was waiting for him.

"Aw, cheer up Professor," Hot Lips said. "I'm really sorry I said anything."

He shrugged again, feeling suddenly tired; it was a sad state of affairs when one's favorite part of the day was the few hours not spent at work.

"Even if you hadn't, the prospect of having to drive there would have done it," he said.

"You would have been a lot happier for a little while longer, though," she pointed out.

"What's a minute or two in the grand scheme of things?" he asked, raising one hand, palm up, in a careless gesture.

"You'd be surprised how much of a difference a minute makes," she said, cocking her head, amusement once more creeping back into her face.

"Possibly," he diplomatically agreed. "But that, I fear, is a topic for another day. Have a good one, Hot Lips."

"You too Professor," she said warmly.

"I'll certainly try," he said, nodding.

_Though it's really out of my hands._

They parted ways on the sidewalk, both walking to their respective vehicles.

He was halfway to his car when the absentminded thought that he should ask her out one of these days popped into his head.

The prospect of dinner with someone he liked talking to at the end of a crap day might do a lot toward making this new job suck a lot less.

_XoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoX_

"She _what_?"

Kaoru stared at Misao, blue eyes wide with surprise. Beside her, Kamatari's eyebrows were up around his hairline.

"Yeah," Misao said unhappily, eyes trained on the sky.

It was lunch, and the three friends were camped out on one of the picnic tables in the school courtyard. They used the benches to hold their book bags and books, and sat on the table top, usually; today, Misao was lying haphazardly on one end of it, head pillowed by her bag, feet on her math book where it sat on the bench. Kaoru and Kamatari were sitting on the other end of the table, cross-legged, their lunches spread out before them.

Misao had just finished telling her friends about her mother's wanting to take her to New York for New Year's. Both were familiar with Yaso's penchant for neglect.

"That's bizarre," Kamatari said. "Your mother, like, _never_ wants to take you anywhere."

"She works a lot," Kaoru said quickly, not liking the way Kamatari had worded his comment—he made it sound like Yaso purposely decided she didn't want to spend her time or money on Misao.

And even if it was true, knowing it was one thing, and hearing it from someone else was something else entirely.

"It's weird that she'd want to have me New Year's," Misao said. "I think she's doing it partly to be a bitch—she _knows_ that's my dad's birthday."

"You said it's January first," Kamatari pointed out.

"Same difference," Misao said, annoyed, sending Kamatari a frown. "The point is she got all butt hurt when I said I wanted to live with my dad instead of her, and now she whines about it when she's got nothing better to do. This is probably another way of doing it, is all."

Kaoru drank her juice and kept her peace; she and Misao had talked about Yaso many times since they'd become friends the last year of middle school. Her parents were Misao's biggest problems, though her father, his strictness aside, wasn't nearly as bad as her mother. Kaoru thought it was weird that the woman could so affect Misao, all without even seeing her all that often.

Then again, Kaoru's mother had once observed that Misao was a sensitive girl.

"She hides it pretty well," Tokio added, "but Misao's feelings get bruised easily."

And from what Kaoru had heard about Yaso from her friend, Misao's mother wasn't what you'd call the understanding and supportive type.

"What's your dad say?" Kaoru asked instead, thinking of Misao's severe-looking, gruff father; she often marveled that such a brusque man had raised a child as outgoing and personable as Misao.

It really boggled the mind.

"Dad is a traitor," Misao muttered, crossing her arms over her chest and frowning fiercely up at the sky. "He totally didn't tell me it was my decision until after I'd already made it. And then he wouldn't let me back out of it once I'd said I'd stay with my mom for New Year's. It's like he wants to get rid of me for his birthday or something."

"Maybe he's got a girlfriend he wants to spend New Year's with," Kamatari suggested with a smirk, and Kaoru and Misao rolled their eyes.

"You've _clearly _never met Misao's dad," Kaoru said.

"I don't even think Dad looks at women, Kam," Misao said.

"Boyfriend?" Kamatari tried.

"We're pretty sure he's asexual at this point," Kaoru said, not even wanting to entertain the idea that Hajime Saitou, who scared the crap out of her on a good day, might be batting for Kamatari's team.

Kamatari sent Misao an appalled look.

"You've discussed your father's _sexual preferences_?" he asked in a horrified tone.

"We tried to find him a girlfriend two years ago," Misao said dismissively. "Kaoru helped me narrow the prospects."

"And?"

"We couldn't figure out what his type was."

"Male or female," Kaoru added. "Therefore: asexual."

"I will never understand how you're even alive," Kamatari said, eyeing Misao, after a pause.

Misao shrugged. "I'm pretty sure my mom made him that way."

Kaoru and Kamatari, having never actually met their friend's mother, had to take her word on it.

"So why do you think she wants to have you for New Year's?" Kamatari asked, absently gnawing on the lip of his water bottle; Kaoru gently pulled the bottle away from his mouth, and he rolled his eyes. "Sometimes I curse that Tokio is a dental hygienist."

"I know," Kaoru said patiently. "You'll thank me when your teeth aren't all fucked up later in life."

"I don't know why she wants me New Year's," Misao said. "I honestly don't see why she bothers taking me at all. She's not even interested half the time."

"Misao," Kaoru chided.

"Come on Kaoru," Misao said, pushing herself up on her elbows to better look at her friends. "I don't talk to her for _months_—I can _not call her_ for _months_—and she won't notice until my dad asks her if she's talked to me lately. I'm pretty sure she forgets I'm her kid ninety-nine percent of the time."

Kaoru sighed and looked at Kamatari for help. He looked at her and shrugged helplessly.

"I don't care or anything—it's not like we had an _awesome_ relationship before she and Dad split up," Misao continued, "but I really wish she'd pick one: either she wants to be my mom or she doesn't. It's annoying how she's always changing her mind, and then getting mad about it when I'm not _super-happy_ that she's remembered I exist."

"Maybe she's trying to do that now," Kaoru suggested brightly. "Be a real mom, I mean."

"Uh-huh," Misao returned, clearly unconvinced.

"You should ask her next time you talk to her," Kamatari said with a nod. "Don't be a jerk about it or you'll start a fight, but ask what made her want to trade all of a sudden."

"I don't like talking to her," Misao mumbled, throwing herself back down on the table, and Kamatari sent her a withering look.

"Well cry me a river," he snapped. "Your only other option is to wait until New Year's rolls around, and _I_, for one, refuse to listen to you _whine_ about this until then."

"Wear ear muffs then," Misao said grumpily. "'S cold enough for 'um."

Kamatari made a move to throw his water bottle at Misao; Kaoru reached over and grabbed it from him, rolling her eyes.

"Kam has a point, Misao," she calmly said, holding the water bottle as far out of Kamatari's reach as she was able to without also falling off the top of the table. "I know you hate talking to your mom, but if you really want to find out why she switched up holidays on you so out of the blue, you're gonna have to call her and ask."

Misao scowled up at the sky, then sighed impatiently. Then she abruptly sat up, grabbed her book bag and hopped off the table.

"I'll see you guys later," she muttered churlishly, grabbing her math book and stomping off, and Kaoru watched her go with a sigh.

"You did all you could," Kamatari said, still trying to get his water bottle back; Kaoru gave up and handed it back to him once she was sure Misao was out of firing range.

"I guess."

"Our Misao's temperamental, hon, you know that," Kamatari said, bumping her shoulder with his. "She'll be better by the time school's out. She's quick to rage and quick to laugh."

"I know. But her mom really gets to her," Kaoru said worriedly, chin anchored in her palm as she watched her friend, tiny as she was, expertly weave through the throng of people outside.

"She'll be _fine_," Kamatari stressed. "Now, on to more important things: are we getting hot chocolate after school or what? It's cold as a witch's _tit_ out, so I totally vote yes."

Kaoru smiled despite her worry.

Kamatari could always be counted on to distract her from her worries, if only for a moment.

_XoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoX_

Misao was not better by the time school let out, as it turned out.

If anything, she was worse.

She knew her friends thought she was overreacting, but they hadn't seen her father's face this morning. Hajime Saitou was best described as a stoic; when Misao had first learned the word, she'd immediately thought of her father, and in truth he fit the description very well. But Misao knew her father—she'd lived with him for sixteen years, after all. She was bound to know when something wasn't right.

And he'd been desperately unhappy today.

Saitou tried to hide it, and she gave him credit—for a little while, she had almost thought he was okay, that he was starting to go back to the way he'd always been up until March. But she'd caught the bleak flicker in his eye when he'd thought she wasn't looking, and worse, she'd seen the expression on his face when he'd been sitting in the car after he'd dropped her off.

He'd looked tired.

He'd looked _old_.

And it added to the resentment that burned in her at the fact that her mother wanted her at the one time of year when her father was at his loneliest. Because for all that her parents fought, Saitou was curiously troubled by the lack of any real and meaningful relationship between his ex-wife and his daughter. He very much disapproved of the whining Misao did when summer vacation rolled around and she had to spend a month with her mother, or when he dropped her off at her mother's for Thanksgiving. He had to force her to call Yaso on her birthday to say happy birthday, and more than once he'd bought a card and made her sign it so she could at least send her mother something. He never said a word against Yaso; the closest he'd come was to observe, in a decidedly mild tone of voice, that Yaso's vocal range had gotten shriller as she'd gotten older, and at the time he hadn't realized Misao had come into the room.

And Misao hated the way he always seemed to roll over for her mother when he never rolled over for anyone. She knew he did it just to keep the fighting down, but it wasn't in his nature not to snap back or bluntly say what he thought.

Not for the first time, Misao wished her father would get a girlfriend, or at the very least, find a woman whose company he enjoyed. She knew the odds of it happening soon were lower than low, though; right now, the College of Law was all he had time for, a state of affairs she knew he found distasteful. Her father was happiest when he could stand up before an auditorium of students and talk at them for an hour and a half, taking questions as they came, walking around the room with his hands clasped behind his back and his reading glasses perched on the end of his nose. A surprising number of his students frequented his office, given his reputation and his frankly intimidating persona. Among the student population, he was well-liked and respected. Among the faculty, he was regarded as one of the most professional, if less sociable, members of the staff. And it was this last that made his now being Dean the hardest adjustment.

Saitou had never really participated with his colleagues outside of the professional field. He had a few acquaintances in a couple of the departments that he occasionally spoke with at home, or had lunch with, but they weren't his friends and they weren't an integral part of his social sphere. He mostly kept to himself at work, polite but distant. It wasn't behavior he could afford to continue, now that he was the head of the College. The fact that he'd ascended to the position during a rough time for the university, financially, didn't help.

He didn't talk to her a lot about what was going on at work, but Misao wasn't dumb, and she regularly read the online edition of the university newspaper. There had been several articles concerning the disbursement of the budget for the Fall Term, and her father's name had come up more than once because of the way he'd hammered away at the committee. The paper had been grudgingly impressed with his tactics, but it was obvious from the editorial pages that her father's diplomacy had bent quite a few noses out of shape, a lot of them in the Colleges of Education and Arts and Sciences, which had lost the majority of the programs cut from the university in what her father sardonically called "The Great Purge."

He'd caught more hell from the local paper, ironically, than the school newspaper, which had reluctantly admitted that it had been a necessary evil, although it protested the way education and the arts had been hit the hardest. Misao thought the only reason her father—who hadn't been the only Dean pushing hard for his College to survive as whole and intact as possible—had come under such heavy fire was because he had been thrown into the position at the same time all this chaos was erupting. He came off as an upstart trying to trample everyone else so he could make himself look good, and it was a perception that got people's backs up.

She knew her father had read all the unflattering articles about him—he read everything, which was why he always seemed to know everything. But he hadn't mentioned any of it. And though Saitou on the whole could have cared less how he was perceived by others, she knew all the negativity had to smart, at least a little. Some days it felt to Misao like she was the only person in her father's corner, and she was smart enough to know that while he probably appreciated it, she alone was not enough. Especially since he couldn't—or perhaps wouldn't, she wasn't sure which was right—dump his frustrations with her.

Misao brooded on all this and more on the way to the coffee shop, where she and Kamatari and Kaoru got their hot chocolates and commandeered a table. She mostly let Kamatari and Kaoru talk, sipping her drink and frowning down at the table top while she worried over her father. She was almost tempted to call him and see how he was doing—and how late he was going to be home tonight; she'd been worried last week when he hadn't gotten home until well after ten, which was unheard of in all the years he'd been teaching—but in the end decided against it. In all likelihood, he had enough to worry about without her interrupting him with an admittedly unimportant question—at least in the sense that it was a question that could wait and wasn't an emergency.

Kaoru dropped her off at home, and Misao thanked her friend, and, feeling bad that she'd been such poor company, said she'd call her later. Kaoru only smiled and said sure, and Misao turned and made her way up the walk to the door, unlocked it and waved to Kaoru and Kamatari, who waved back before they drove off back towards Kaoru's neighborhood.

Misao locked the door, toed off her shoes and then trudged upstairs to dump her bag in her room and then take a shower. Then, she decided, she'd see what they had in the fridge to eat, and if there was enough, she'd make dinner.

One less thing for her father to worry about.

_XoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoX_

Tokio was lying on her bed watching TV with Yahiko when Kaoru appeared in the doorway.

"Uh oh," Yahiko said, rolling his eyes as he sat up, "girl talk time. I'm outta here."

Tokio rolled her eyes.

"Brush your teeth," she said. "And don't forget to floss, mister."

"Uh-huh," Yahiko said, ambling out of the room, and Tokio watched his retreating back with a frown before she turned her attention to her daughter.

"Come on sweetheart," she said, patting the vacated space beside her. "What's on your mind?"

Kaoru immediately came into the room, dressed for bed in a pair of Sano's sweatpants she'd stolen from him before he'd left home, and her class T-shirt. She was wearing a pair of gray crew socks she'd stolen from Tokio; only the fact that Tokio had three other pairs saved Kaoru from having to surrender the pair she now wore.

"Misao's really upset about going to her mom's," Kaoru said, crawling up onto the bed beside Tokio, who obligingly put the TV on mute and sat up to give her daughter her full attention. "Her mom wants her for New Year's, and Misao doesn't want to go because then her dad'll be alone on his birthday."

"His birthday is New Year's Eve?" Tokio asked in surprise, not for the first time wondering what Misao's father looked like—she'd never seen the man, only heard about him from Kaoru and Misao, and most of that had been that he was kind of strict and scary and no-nonsense and scary and abrupt—and had she mentioned scary?

Tokio mentally rolled her eyes—Kaoru regarded the man with a healthy dose of wariness, although she had admitted that he'd never been anything but polite to her.

"No," Kaoru said, interrupting her thoughts, "it's New Year's Day, but she still wouldn't be there, and she says he's antisocial and doesn't go out with anyone and she doesn't want him to be alone on his birthday. Plus she's convinced her mom's doing it on purpose to be a bitch."

"Hm. And I suppose you're telling me this because…?" Tokio prompted.

"I'm worried about Misao," Kaoru said, scooting over to snuggle into her mother's side; Tokio put an arm around her and hugged her close. "I really wanna help."

"Well," Tokio said, rubbing a hand up and down her daughter's arm. "I know you do. And you're a really great friend for being concerned about her. But that's probably about all you can do, hon."

Kaoru groaned.

"Mooom," she whined.

"I know, I know, it just sucks when I give you reasonable advice, doesn't it?" Tokio said in amusement. "Just be there for Misao, and listen to her."

"Me and Kam told her she ought to talk to her mom."

"True," Tokio said. "Maybe she should talk to her dad, too."

"She already did," Kaoru said, shaking her head. "He's the one who wants her to go spend New Year's with her mom."

"Well if he's okay with it I don't understand Misao's dilemma," Tokio said, looking down at Kaoru.

"It's the whole him being alone part," Kaoru said.

"He doesn't seem to mind," Tokio pointed out.

"That's the problem," Kaoru said.

"Now you've lost me," Tokio said.

Kaoru sighed.

"Would you want me to be alone on my birthday?" she asked, looking up at her mother.

Tokio pursed her lips and considered the question.

"Not really," she said finally.

"That's where Misao's coming from. Especially since her dad hasn't exactly had a great year at work. He was promoted not too long ago, and it hasn't been going well."

"Ah," Tokio said, finally seeing the issue. "Well, I know you aren't going to like this, but there's nothing you can do to help her. Just be there when she wants someone to talk to."

Kaoru groaned into Tokio's shoulder, and Tokio patted her daughter's dark hair consolingly.

"Sorry," Tokio said sincerely.

"Yeah," Kaoru said morosely. "She's going to hate New Year's."

"It might not be so bad," Tokio said. "Misao's dad might go out for his birthday, and she's doing all this worrying for nothing."

"That's not really his style," Kaoru said, sending her mother a dubious look.

Tokio shrugged lightly, careful not to upset her daughter's head.

"Weirder things have happened," she said. "About all Misao can do is talk to her parents. As for you, you just keep on being a good friend. It'll work out."

"You should have been a motivational speaker, Mom," Kaoru said, and Tokio pouted.

"So mean, just like your brother," she said.

"Which one?" Kaoru asked, grinning.

"Good question," Tokio said with a huff, but she was only teasing and Kaoru knew it. "I'm burdened with such ungrateful children."

Kaoru laughed and hugged her mother, and Tokio hugged her back.

"Feel any better?" Tokio asked, messing with Kaoru's ponytail.

"I guess," Kaoru said. "I was hoping you'd have a better answer."

"There are no better answers, babe, just some answers we like more than others," Tokio said, giving her ponytail a gentle yank. "Now brush and floss and get some sleep—just two more days before your four day weekend," she reminded happily, and Kaoru smiled.

"Yeah," she said thoughtfully. "'Kay. 'Night Mom."

"'Night sweetheart."

Kaoru hugged and kissed her mother, then hopped off the bed and padded off to the bathroom she shared with Yahiko down the hall. Tokio heard Kaoru complain when she discovered Yahiko still in the bathroom, flossing (Tokio grinned, cheered by the thought that her son had followed her directions without her having to remind him as often as usual), and Yahiko's reply that it was his turn for the bathroom still.

"Guys," she called out warningly, then smothered a laugh when she heard the argument continue in lower but still audible voices.

She shook her head and turned the volume back up on her TV; hopefully she'd get to see the end of this episode before she had to go to bed.


	3. Chapter the Third

**A/N:** Finally finished this puppy. Dunno when the next chapter will be out. Be on the look-out for: the next installment of _Ugetsu Monogatari_ and a Christmas oneshot set in the "White Day" universe. I might have a couple of "Small Things" drabbles for you all around January 1st (for a certain Wolf's birthday), and I'm hoping to have the next chapter of _Captain Mis_ out before January is over, but I wouldn't quote me on that (because I'll deny deny deny).

Also: those of you who've been reviewing, I have gotten those reviews and read and very much appreciated them. I'll be replying to _Everlong_ reviews from chapters one and two (and other reviews for the odd story I've gotten here and there) over the next few days; apologies for the delay, but better late than never?

Anyway. Enjoy!

* * *

Disclaimer: Not mine, not now, not ever.

* * *

_Everlong_

_XoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoX_

**Chapter the Third**

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Tokio walked into the coffee shop the next morning, eyes already looking for her "buddy." It was usually her waiting for him, but every now and then he'd show up before she did.

She smiled ruefully when she didn't see him inside; it was becoming more and more common for him to show up after her, expression worn and weary. She'd been surprised when she'd noticed the salt and pepper hair at his temples a few weeks ago—that hadn't been there six months back.

_Poor Professor_, she thought, getting on line.

She'd seen him at the coffee shop for a couple years. Every now and then he'd pop up, an interesting little blip on her people-watching radar. He was taller than your usual Asian man, and he had odd colored eyes, so it was no wonder that she noticed him. He was quiet and kept to himself, not given to even short, polite commentary on the weather with other patrons. His usual MO had been to get his coffee, grab a paper and leaf through it at one of the tables in the corner until he was done with his drink. Then he'd gather his briefcase and coat, neatly fold up the paper and return it to the stand, throw out his empty cup and then leave. She'd never seen him linger or talk to or even look at anyone else. About six months ago, though, he'd started to come in looking less, well, _composed_ was the best word to describe it, than he usually was. He still didn't talk to or look at anybody, but the quiet serenity that had always seemed to envelope him was gone.

He wore despair like a cloak these days, and the naked distaste with which he continued to order coffee when it was clear he didn't want to had prompted her to ask him why one morning in June not too long after things had changed, when they happened to be waiting for their drinks side by side at the pick-up counter.

He'd been surprised, and it had showed on his face. The entire time Tokio had been keeping tabs on him, she'd never seen anyone talk to him, or vice versa. So she imagined it must have been very strange for him.

But he'd replied—she hadn't really expected him to answer her, for some reason—and she had recommended he try green tea. He had said he'd consider it, and she had deduced that he was only being polite and had no intention of doing any such thing. She'd been very surprised, therefore, when upon seeing her the next day, he'd smiled faintly and told her he'd taken her recommendation.

She had begun to wave at him when she saw him in the coffee shop, and he'd return a nod, and sometimes they had chatted a little. One day, she saved a spot in line for him. From that day on, they waited in line together and talked. She had been happy to see some of the gloom lift from his features. She didn't think it was loneliness—he didn't seem like the type to mind something like that. It was more like he was thankful for the distraction, and as an added bonus, it was a distraction he found agreeable.

They had never introduced themselves. She'd just begun calling him Professor because he'd mentioned to her that he lectured at Stanford University, and he called her Hot Lips because she always wore scrubs. He hadn't asked what it was she did, and she hadn't volunteered the information, mostly because it had never come up in conversation. He only said anything about work every now and then, and mostly seemed to shy away from it. She took her cues from him, and rarely brought it up. When she had yesterday, she'd hoped things had gotten better for him, but the way his shoulders had slumped and the way the amusement had leeched from him had told her otherwise.

And immediately made her feel horrible.

A rush of cool air from the direction of the door made her look over, and she brightened and waved when she saw him. He looked tired, and his smile and wave were half-hearted, which dampened her spirits slightly.

"Morning," she said with a rueful smile.

"Morning," he replied, his weariness in his voice. "Thank you for not tacking 'good' onto that, by the way," he added.

"Didn't look like you'd appreciate it or find it ironic," she said, and his smile widened a tiny bit.

"That's what I like about you, Hot Lips, you're so very considerate," he said, and she grinned.

Maybe it wasn't too bad if he was still able to make jokes.

"My son told me his school's going to be playing against Stanford next year," she said, grin widening.

His left eyebrow rose.

"Oh? And where does your son go?"

"State."

He smirked.

"I hope he won't be too crushed when we destroy them," he said mildly, and she rolled her eyes.

"You men and your ridiculous football," she muttered, and he let out a little laugh that made her feel better; he had to be doing all right now, if he was able to laugh, even a little…

The morning routine continued on as it had for the past five months, until they were halfway through drinking their tea.

"I've been toying with this idea," he said suddenly, frowning down contemplatively at his cup.

"Oh?" she asked, waiting for him to continue; every now and then he ran ideas by her, things he was mulling over doing with his classes or topics to research for his next paper or book or lecture. A lot of it was way over her head—law and politics weren't her bag—but he insisted that that was why he asked her about it, because he wanted an opinion that wasn't tainted with academia.

"Uh-huh."

Tokio waited for him to continue, confused when he didn't.

"What's the idea?" she prodded finally.

His gaze flickered up at her, then back to his cup.

She knew that look: it was the same one Sano and Yahiko wore every time they didn't really want to answer a question she'd asked them because they knew the answer was going to get them in trouble.

It was a look they'd learned from their father.

_Do all men learn how to reproduce that look?_ she wondered, half annoyed.

"Spit it out, Professor," she said dryly, adopting the same tone and language she used with her sons.

His amber gaze—carefully neutral—caught and held her eyes for several moments.

"Like to have dinner some time?" he asked finally, abruptly, as if he were expecting her to say no even as he asked.

Tokio wasn't expecting the question, so it threw her off guard.

Only for a moment, though—she may not have been expecting it, but she had been wondering, for some time, if he'd be amenable to something other than sharing tea and conversation every morning.

He was staring her down, daring her to say no, and Tokio wanted to laugh, amused by his behavior.

"Yes," she said after pretending to consider his offer. "I like Indian."

He raised an eyebrow.

"I can't say I do," he said.

"You've never had real Indian food, then," she said, and he smirked faintly.

"Entirely possible," he allowed. "However, that's rather a little more pungent than I was going for."

Tokio shrugged.

"All right, say Japanese, since it's something we're obviously both familiar with," she said, and he nodded.

"Fair enough. There's a very good one fifteen minutes from Stanford called Shinju."

Tokio nodded; the owner of the establishment was one of her patients, and was always urging her to go try it some time.

"All right," she said. "When?"

"Next Friday," he said.

"At seven," she said.

"Next Friday at seven," he said with a nod.

There was a long stretch of silence between them. Then:

"I feel like I just made an appointment," he muttered distastefully, and Tokio laughed.

"Been a while since you asked a woman out to dinner?" she couldn't resist teasing.

He sent her a sour look that just made her laugh some more.

"It's okay," she assured, patting his arm, "I don't mind. It's even a little endearing, in a way."

"Feh," was all he had to say on the matter.

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"You have a _date_ next Friday? _Get out_!"

Misao stared at her father's back in shock, jaw somewhere on the floor near her feet.

She'd been surprised but pleased by the pretty good mood he'd been in when he got home early (another welcome surprise) that day. He was less irritable, and seemed in better spirits than he'd been in a while. He'd even said he'd make dinner tonight, which hadn't happened in months.

"Not that I mind, or anything," Misao said, vaulting herself up onto the kitchen counter to watch her father make short, efficient work of the mushrooms he was dicing, "but what's got you in such a good mood? You're, like, almost cheerful, Dad."

He paused long enough to send her a flat look over the rims of his glasses.

"Was that supposed to sound as snotty as it came out?" he asked.

She shrugged and filched a baby carrot from the open bag on the counter next to her.

"I'm just saying, you haven't exactly been Mr. Sunshine-and-Fluffy-Bunnies in a while, and now you're—"

"Your father would really appreciate it if you kept him out the same sentence as "fluffy bunnies," "rainbows," "unicorns," and whatever other hideous things you equate with happiness and general amiability," Saitou said, going back to his mushrooms.

Misao rolled her eyes; when he started talking about himself in the third person like that it meant he was one "fluffy bunny" away from making her life miserable until he decided she'd suffered enough.

"Whatever Dad, you know what I mean," she said, sneaking another carrot.

Actually, it wasn't so much "sneaking" as Saitou's allowing her to take another; she knew very well that at any moment, her father could arbitrarily decide she'd had enough and cut her off, and she wouldn't be able to do anything about it.

"I suppose I am in a better mood," he allowed.

"Something good happened," Misao guessed, brightening considerably.

"You could say that."

"People at Stanford finally figured out what a totally awesome dean you are and are finally gonna back off?" Misao asked, vaulting off the counter to begin setting the kitchen table.

Saitou snorted.

"Not quite, but we're making progress on that front," he said.

Misao frowned.

"So it wasn't work?" she asked, standing beside the table, her plans to be helpful forgotten.

"No."

She pursed her lips.

"Soooo…what was it then?"

For a long time, there was just the sound of the knife rapidly hitting the cutting board. Misao knew what he was doing, and waited, though not very patiently; this was a "game" she and her father had played many times over the years, and she had finally been able to last long enough to occasionally win—Saitou was still years ahead of her in both strategy and patience, though Misao was beginning to catch up.

Her father apparently gathered that he wouldn't be able to frustrate her into forgetting her question (a favorite pastime of his since she had been four), because he finally said,

"I'm having dinner with a friend next Friday."

Misao's frown deepened at that.

_Friend_? What _friend_? She knew all her father's friends (there were three), and if he were having dinner with one of them he would have said "I'm having dinner with Souji, God help me," or "I'm having dinner with that asshole Yamazaki," or "I'm meeting that know-it-all prick Shinpachi for dinner."

…her father and his friends had a very special relationship that sustained itself on lots of dysfunction and abuse. The only reason Misao knew for a fact that her father actually considered the three men his friends was because Souji had been best man at Saitou's wedding, Yamazaki had delivered her and was still her primary doctor, and Shinpachi was her godfather.

That he hadn't said any of the three men's names told her this so-called friend wasn't one of them. And it wasn't someone from work, because her father wasn't really social with the people he worked with, the odd lunch here and there aside. Plus, he'd tried to put her off and get out of answering her by playing that (_detested_) "Patience Game," which told her he didn't really want to discuss it with her.

So Misao concluded that her father was going out with someone female next Friday.

I.e., Hajime Saitou had a _date_.

Which is when Misao's head exploded.

At her incredulous outburst, Saitou sighed.

"It's not a date," he said.

"Is your friend a girl?" Misao asked, bounding over to her father's side to get a look at his face when he answered her; he was good at keeping his tone neutral, but she could read his face like an open book, knew what to look for to know when he was lying and when he was telling the truth.

And that little eyebrow tic was a dead giveaway that he was both irritated and telling the truth when he flatly said,

"Yes."

"It is _so_ totally a _date_!" Misao crowed, dancing.

"You're obnoxious," Saitou muttered. "And it's not a date. It's dinner."

"Dinner can be a date," she said cheekily.

"Not all dates involve dinner," he shot back with a speaking look in her direction.

"You're such a drag," Misao said with a dramatic sigh, going back to setting the table for dinner.

"I get that a lot."

"So who is she?" Misao asked, glancing at her father's back while she folded napkins.

"A woman I know from the coffee shop I go to in the mornings after I drop you off at school."

"What's she like?"

"Nice. Small."

"Small?"

"She's short. Just a couple inches taller than you."

"So you look hugacious next to her," Misao concluded.

Saitou looked over his shoulder at her, frowning.

"'Hugacious'?" he repeated.

"Super huge," Misao said placidly, and her father watched her for several moments before he rolled his eyes and shook his head and went back to what he'd been doing.

"Is she young?"

"She looks young, but she's got a son in college, so she's in my ball park."

"What's she do?"

Saitou turned and crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back against the counter and stared at her. Misao met his stare, thoughtful.

"I'm giving you the third degree, huh?" she asked.

"Yeah," he said with a nod.

"Sorry," she said with a shrug, then grinned mischievously at him. "Not every day you tell me you have a date, though."

He sighed.

"It's not a date." he said wearily.

"Uh-huh."

His lip curled in annoyance.

"I really hate it when you get smug," he said, warning in his tone.

Misao pouted.

"You're no fun," she announced. "I have no idea how you convinced this poor, deluded woman to have dinner with you."

"Finish setting the table," Saitou ordered, turning back to his chopping.

Misao stuck her tongue out at him but did as told. As she laid out the silverware, she snuck a peek at her father's back and grinned before going back to what she was supposed to be doing.

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"A date?"

Tokio shrugged.

"Sort of," she hedged.

Beside her, Koshijirou pursed his lips.

"Huh," he said finally, and Tokio sent him a flat look.

"_What_?" she asked, and he held up both hands.

"Nothing," he protested.

"Yeah right," she muttered.

There was a long pause, and then Koshijirou said,

"Soooo…what's he like?"

"Why do you care?"

He nudged her, his expression gently chastising.

"Don't be like that," he said. "Come on, I can't be curious? You always used to badger me about my dates."

"You asked me for advice," she corrected. "I was never interested in your dates."

"Not even as my oldest and best friend?" he prodded with a knowing look, and Tokio shot him a dirty look.

"Low blow," she complained, and Koshijirou shrugged.

"So sue me," he said. "Look, I'm just asking because we're friends, babe."

There was another, longer pause, and then Tokio said,

"He's a law professor at Stanford U."

"Really?" Koshijirou asked, sounding a little surprised.

"What?" Tokio demanded, instantly bristling at his tone.

"Easy, easy!" Koshijirou laughed a little. "Geez, Tokio, relax, huh? Don't get so touchy."

"Oh shut up," Tokio muttered, frowning, turning her attention back to Yahiko's soccer match.

"I think it's great that he's a law professor at Stanford," Koshijirou said.

"I'm ignoring you now," Tokio informed him evenly, watching her son defend the net; Yahiko was by far the most aggressive goalie his coach had ever had, and the man clearly didn't know whether he meant that as a compliment or not, judging by the number of times he'd said that to Tokio.

"I'm glad you're dating again," Koshijirou insisted.

"I'm not dating," Tokio snapped impatiently, eyes darting to find Kaoru; she hadn't told her daughter (or sons, for that matter) yet, wanting to run it by Koshijirou and get his reaction before she tried their kids.

A favorable reaction from him meant she'd have an easier time dealing with the fallout once her children heard about it.

"You just said—"

"_You_ said it was a date, not me."

"You agreed with me!"

"I most certainly did _not_."

"…So that's where Kaoru gets that snooty tone from."

Tokio glared at her ex-husband from out of the corner of her eye; he raised an eyebrow in response, utterly unaffected by her anger.

"I've seen you naked, you can't scare me," he reminded her, and she whacked his arm.

"You're an idiot," she muttered.

"Come on Tokio, lighten up," he said, nudging her. "I'm serious. I worry about you. You don't go out."

"I don't have a lot of spare time, you know," she said.

"I would be more than willing to take the kids so you could go out with someone you liked," Koshijirou replied placidly. "You shouldn't be alone, kid, not a good egg like you."

"Thanks for the endorsement…_Bogie_."

"You're a brat," Koshijirou said without any bite; he slung an arm around her and patted her arm. "So tell me about your not-date."

"He's got a daughter in high school," Tokio said, after a moment of mutinously considering proving him right in calling her a brat. "He and his ex-wife have been divorced for a while, and it's apparently still pretty acrimonious."

"Not everyone can be as grown up about these kinds of things as us," Koshijirou said sagely.

Tokio sent him a dry look:

"Says the man who still burps the alphabet."

"And the National Anthem," he added without so much as a hint of apology.

"I'm sure the Founding Fathers are _very_ appreciative."

"What's he like?"

"Tall, quiet," Tokio said contemplatively. "Lately he's been a little peaked. He got some fancy pants promotion at work, and it's been rough on him."

"Head of the department?" Koshijirou hazarded.

Tokio shrugged, careful not to throw his arm off.

"I don't know. He doesn't really like to talk about it."

"Well, you're just the little ray of sunshine to cheer him up," Koshijirou said brightly, and Tokio rolled her eyes.

"How does Omasu stand you?" she asked, and he laughed and squeezed her.

"You've known me for twenty-two years, Tokio," he said, amusement twinkling in dark eyes. "I think the better question is how have you managed to stand me for so long?"

Tokio stuck her tongue out at him; he returned the gesture.

"So what's he look like?"

"Asian."

"Chinese?"

"Japanese," she corrected, raising an eyebrow. "Why did you automatically assume he was Chinese?"

"Because the last two men you dated were Chinese," Koshijirou said. "Plus you told me you never wanted to have to deal with a Japanese mother-in-law ever again."

"My mother introduced me to both of those men, and I don't want to have to deal with another mother-in-law period," Tokio corrected.

Koshijirou shrugged.

"So. He's tall, huh?"

"At least six feet."

Koshijirou whistled.

"_Damn_. They fed him his Wheaties when he was coming up, didn't they? Man. And he's Japanese? Must be some European in there somewhere."

"Sano's up there, too, you know," Tokio reminded him.

"Sano is a freak of nature," Koshijirou said, "and I always had my suspicions you got a little friendly with the milkman about nine months before he was born."

"There haven't been milkmen since 1950-something."

Koshijirou sent her an exasperated look.

"You're a jerk and I don't like you anymore," he said.

"All I'm saying is our own kid is almost as tall as he is, so it shouldn't surprise you that he's so tall." Tokio pointed out.

"Yeah, but our boy's got some European blood in him, courtesy of his lovely mother, and I'm pretty sure that helps," Koshijirou said, squeezing her shoulder and smiling faintly. "He'd have been screwed if he'd had to depend on my side of the family in the height department."

Tokio hated that Koshijirou had made reference to those distinctly not-Asian bits of her bloodline; it had long been a point of contention for his domineering mother, with whom Tokio even now, ten years after divorcing her son, could not get along with, even for the sake of her children.

Misato Kamiya would have none of her.

It was why she and Kaoru had blue eyes, and why her brother and son were so tall, and why her sister's and Yahiko's faces were so Asian-but-not-really, and though these were qualities that Koshijirou liked about the Takagi clan and was pleased his children had inherited, it bothered Tokio.

She had never been "Asian enough," would never be "Asian enough," and though it shouldn't have bothered her, it did.

It was something she had hidden from her ex-husband all the years they'd been married, and something she continued to hide from him even now.

"So where you guys going?" Koshijirou asked.

"Shinju."

"Shinju?" he repeated, his eyebrows shooting up. "Not The Pink Buddha?"

Tokio sent him a flat look.

"Yeah, because I totally want Enishi and Heishin to see me having dinner with some strange man so they can tell the rest of the family about it."

"Your cousins wouldn't snitch on you like that," he chided.

"Probably not," she admitted reluctantly. "But they'd still try and talk to him if I went to the bathroom."

"They never did that to me," Koshijirou said lightly.

"Enishi twirled a knife while he cornered you in the booth the first time I took you there, you liar! You made me promise never to take you back!" she said, whacking him.

"Did that happen?" Koshijirou asked innocently, pretending great concentration.

"_Yes_, Koshijirou—Enishi tells the story every Christmas. Though maybe not _exactly_ the way it happened."

Koshijirou frowned at her; she shrugged.

"He's embellished certain events," she said.

Koshijirou eyed her.

"He's turned me into a total bitch, hasn't he?" he asked flatly.

"Not completely," Tokio said with a grin. "You don't cry like a woman when the knife comes out."

"Yet," Koshijirou muttered sourly, turning his attention back to the game.

Tokio smirked and reached up to pat his chest.

"Enishi likes you, hon," she assured. "It's Heishin who hates your guts."

"I don't understand why," Koshijirou said, sounding bewildered.

"He hates everyone pretty equally, it's nothing personal," she said.

"Your cousins are seriously whacked, babe."

"Feh, tell me something I don't know."

"So, how much do we like Mr. Law Professor? On a scale of one to ten?" Koshijirou asked after a beat.

"Eight," Tokio said after a thoughtful pause.

Koshijirou looked impressed.

"Well," he said. "I must say I'm a little jealous—I only scored a six the first time we went out."

"You grew on me," Tokio said with a wide grin, hugging him close. "Like mold."

"I'm so loved," Koshijirou deadpanned, though he hugged her back, and Tokio laughed.

"Well, here's to hoping there's a second date," he said seriously after a pause.

She smiled up at him.

"Thanks Koshi," she said appreciatively, and he smiled and rubbed her arm affectionately.

"You're welcome," he said. "I feel I should add that a good way of ensuring that is not giving it up on the first date."

Tokio's smile faded into a frigid glare.

"You're why Sano has no game with girls, and you should be ashamed of your lack of prowess," she said.

"Now that was uncalled for," Koshijirou said mildly.

"Oh shut up."


	4. Chapter the Fourth

**SURPRISE!**

I'm sure none of you were expecting this (just as no one ever expects the Spanish Inquisition, as it should be). So here you go, a present for you all, belated, from Santa Hack. And, luckiest of all, this one's a little longer than the usual _Everlong_ chappie.

Enjoy! :D

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Disclaimer: Not mine, not now, not ever.

* * *

More Of A Note Than Anything:

Chinese Cubans: or, alternately, Cuban Chinese, depending on how you want to classify. So they do exist. I have met them, and they had a fairly substantial presence on the island, usually as the proprietors of laundromats, bakeries or restaurants, from what my grandparents have told me. So yeah. Just in case anyone was wondering if I pulled this one out of my ass, I totally didn't, lol.

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_Everlong_

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**Chapter the Fourth**

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"Oh come the fuck on!" Saitou snarled.

Beside her father, Misao rolled her eyes and shook her head.

Her dad's friend Susumu Yamazaki had done them a huge favor and gotten her a very last minute appointment with a dentist friend who worked in his building. Unfortunately, the time of the appointment was cutting it a little too close to when Misao got out of school, and since there was some insurance paperwork to muddle through, her father wanted to be around for it, so he'd had to cancel his afternoon class, pick her up from school, and drive them to the building, which was close to downtown.

The snow wasn't helping her father's temper any.

"We don't really need to get me a new dentist, Dad," she said, holding onto the door console a little more tightly as her father maneuvered around someone he considered too slow.

"The hell we don't," he muttered. "That dentist is a charlatan. Asshole filled two cavities I know for a fact you didn't have, and charged me an arm and a leg for it."

"Dad, who says 'charlatan' anymore?" Misao asked, exasperated. "What are you, like a billion years old or something?"

"Quiet."

"I'm serious," Misao said. "I mean, say 'con,' or even 'con artist'. 'Charlatan' hasn't been relevant since like…1760."

"Misao, now is not the time to lecture me on updating my lame vocabulary," Saitou snapped.

"At least I finally got you to admit you're lame. Too bad I'm about to die in a gruesome car wreck," she muttered.

"You're not dying today," Saitou said. "This car wouldn't dare spin out on me. I'll put two .45s into it."

"I still can't believe they let you buy a gun," she said, glancing over at him. "Didn't Uncle Souji and Uncle Shin say you were the one of them most likely to snap and shave off all your hair, climb a bell tower and shoot student nurses?"

"It was 'lay waste to a college campus,' for the record, and Souji and Shinpachi are way more screwed up than I am," Saitou said, sending her a black look.

Misao had some doubts about that, mostly because neither Souji nor Shinpachi had been married to Yaso like her father had, but she knew better than to say so. Her mother wasn't really a bad person, but the woman was hell on the nerves, and she had really done a number on Saitou's. Misao barely recognized the wild man from her father's friends' stories as her staid, taciturn parent. There was mellow, and there was catatonic, and some days Saitou seemed more like the latter had happened to him than the former.

They finally made it to the building, and Saitou dropped her off at the entrance and told her to go up and get the ball rolling while he found a parking space. She dutifully found Dr. Wong's suite number on the directory by the elevators, then rode up to the third floor and walked down the hall until she found it.

The waiting room was nice and bright, very neat and clean. The chairs were comfy looking, and the magazines were staggered in neat rows over the top of the table so that all of the titles were clearly visible. Misao walked over to the counter absently, trying to see what the frames on the walls held.

"Hi there, can I help you?" the woman behind the counter asked with a smile, and when Misao looked at her and saw her shirt print, she grinned; she had kittens on her scrubs top.

"Yeah, I'm new here? Misao Saitou," she said, leaning on the counter.

"Oh! So you're the boss' favor," the woman said in amusement. "Dr. Wong said Dr. Yamazaki had been driving him crazy about getting you in today."

Misao blushed. "He's my dad's friend," she said. "And he's been my doctor since I was born."

The woman smiled. "It's okay," she said, leaning closer. "Dr. Yamazaki lets Dr. Wong win when they go golfing."

Misao smiled, and the woman returned it. She was a young woman, also Japanese, with a very pretty face and very fine features. She gathered together a few sheets of paper, slid them into a clipboard, and then presented that and a pen to Misao.

"Just fill those out for us, please, Misao. Have you got your dental insurance card?"

"My dad does," she said. "He's parking the car. He'll probably be up here in like five minutes."

"Okay, well tell your dad that we'll need that when he comes in, okay?" the woman asked, and Misao nodded. "All right, you have a seat and fill those out, and we'll be with you in a minute or two."

"Okay."

Misao chose a seat close to the counter and started filling out the patient information sheet. She was idly listening to the conversation going on beyond the counter as she wrote, and she didn't pay attention until she heard a very familiar woman's voice:

"Hey Omasu, did that new patient walk in yet?"

"Yup," the woman behind the counter said. "Just now. She's filling out the paperwork. Dad's on the way with the insurance card."

Misao stood up and peeked into the office beyond the counter, and saw a woman with dark hair and familiar almond-shaped blue eyes standing in the hallway. There was a mask over her face and gloves on her hands, and she was in light blue scrubs, but Misao knew her immediately.

"Tokio!" she said, delighted.

Tokio looked at her, gave a start, and then grinned behind her mask before she pulled it down.

"Misao! I didn't know you were the boss' favor. What a nice surprise."

"For real," Misao said, grinning. "I didn't know you worked so close to downtown."

"You two know each other, I guess?" Omasu asked, amused.

"Omasu, this is Kaoru's super best friend, Misao," Tokio said.

"Oh!" Omasu said, laughing. "_You're_ Misao! Kao talks about you all the time. Koshi calls you two the terrible twins."

"Omasu is Koshijirou's girlfriend," Tokio patiently explained when Misao looked lost.

"Oh wow, awkward," Misao blurted before she could stop herself.

Omasu and Tokio burst out laughing, and Misao, blushing, smiled faintly.

"Not as awkward as you'd think," Omasu said.

"I give her top secret information on how to get her way with Koshijirou," Tokio said mischievously. "He hates it."

Misao laughed a little. "So you're the spy, huh? I guess Mr. Kamiya doesn't get you angry too often, Omasu, when you have a secret weapon like Tokio."

"He knows better," Omasu agreed with a grin.

"Well I'll get you set up," Tokio said. "I'll come for you."

"Okay. Hey, you can finally meet Dad!" Misao said brightly. "He's parking the car, he should be here in a few minutes."

"So I'll finally get to meet the mysterious Mr. Saitou, huh?" Tokio asked, amused. "Does he really breathe fire and turn people to stone with a single glare?"

Misao snorted. "Kaoru reads way too much Western mythology," she said, and Tokio laughed.

"I'd love to meet your dad, hon," Tokio said. "See you in a few."

"Okay!"

Misao settled down to hurry through the paperwork. Saitou opened the door two minutes after Tokio had gone back to set up for Misao's cleaning and check-up, looking cold and irritated.

"Well, we'll have to hike through waist-high snow drifts to get to the car, but it's parked," he said, shutting the door.

"Okay. Hey, they need your insurance card," Misao said.

He was already taking out his wallet to take out the card. "Did you finish filling everything out?"

"Uh-huh."

"Good," he said, walking to the counter. "Hi, I'm Misao's father. You need my insurance card?"

"Yes sir, Mr. Saitou," Omasu said with her smile firmly in place.

"Here," he said, holding it out to her. "Anything else?"

"Nope, we just need the card. I'll make a copy for our file, and give it right back. You can have a seat, if you like," she added.

"Right," Saitou said, going to where Misao sat and taking the seat beside her. "Let me see," he said, holding out a hand.

"I got everything," she insisted, but she gave him the clipboard.

His gaze went over the paperwork, and he frowned when he saw that she'd checked off that she'd had cavities.

"You did not have cavities," he said, looking at her.

"The fillings in my mouth say different, Dad," she said.

He snorted. "I want Wong to take x-rays. They can tell if the fillings needed to be done or not, and if I was scammed I'm suing that—"

"_Dad_."

Saitou sent her an annoyed look; she elbowed him, and he rolled his eyes and handed the clipboard back to her. She took it and laid it on her lap very primly, and he leaned back in his chair and sighed.

"Hey, guess what?" she asked after a pause.

"What?"

"Kaoru's mom works here. Tokio. Isn't that crazy?"

"Absolutely," he agreed with zero interest, and Misao frowned.

"Dad, do _not_ make me regret being related to you," she said flatly, and he sent her a threatening look.

"Watch it," he said.

"Mr. Saitou?" Omasu called, and he held out a hand for the clipboard, still giving her that look. Misao made a face but gave it to him, and he rose and went back to the counter.

"Here's your card, sir," Omasu said with a smile.

She and Saitou exchanged the card for the paperwork, and she told him it wouldn't be more than a few more minutes. He nodded and sat back down next to Misao with a sigh.

"And after this, the airport," he muttered, taking off his glasses and rubbing a hand over his face.

"But after that, Grandma's hot chocolate and cookies," Misao said, and Saitou smiled faintly.

"This is true," he said, sitting back and slinging an affectionate arm around her. "She was excited when she heard you'd be there not just for Thanksgiving this year, but for your birthday."

"Excited enough to make a pumpkin praline torte?" she asked hopefully, and he chuckled and tugged on her braid.

"Two," he confided, "one to eat there and one to take home."

"Grandma is awesome," Misao said with a happy sigh, and Saitou chuckled again.

"Yeah, we always thought so," he said, leaning his head back against the wall.

Misao watched her father for a moment, then leaned her head against his shoulder. After a moment, his hand settled on top of her head and ruffled her bangs, and Misao grinned.

Her father wasn't really demonstrative—that was just his nature, and she'd realized that as a child when she'd seen him with her aunt and uncle, and realized he was standoffish with everyone—but he'd gotten better about it as the years had passed. Misao treasured her father's hopelessly awkward affection. He wasn't sentimental by any stretch of the imagination, but he'd kept every birthday and Father's Day card she'd ever given him, every picture and letter she'd drawn or written for him, every odd and lopsided art project crafted painstakingly for him, and for a man who didn't really value sentiment that meant something.

They sat that way for several moments in silence, until the door leading into the office beyond the counter opened to reveal a smiling Tokio.

"We're ready for you, hon," she said, and Misao bounded up from her seat, then turned to her father.

"Dad, this is—Dad?" she asked, her smile dying at the pole axed expression on Saitou's face.

"Professor?" Tokio asked, and Misao's eyebrows reached for the ceiling.

She looked back at Tokio and saw her staring at Saitou, looking like someone had hit her over the head with whatever had clipped her father.

"Do you guys know each other?" Misao asked, looking between her parent and her best friend's mother as she began making certain connections.

Saitou abruptly got to his feet and strode to the door, opened it and stalked out, the door slamming shut behind him.

And Misao, staring after him in shock, was more surprised by the embarrassed flush on his cheekbones that she'd caught as he passed her than by his leaving without a word.

Tokio flinched when the door shut.

_It really is a small world, isn't it?_ she thought, a little dumbly, her gaze moving to Misao, who was still staring at the door.

There was no way she ever would have connected her coffee shop buddy to Misao's father. There was zero familial resemblance. There was nothing of the lanky, angular man with the chilly amber eyes who had become her sort of friend in the girl before her, at least nothing physical. Apparently, Misao's father had something of a temper, and Misao was well-known for hers. The acerbic tongue, she thought suddenly, was something else she'd inherited from him. But these were inside things, personality things, and unless one knew both parties, it was impossible to pinpoint what had come from whom.

She still felt stupid. _The man was the father of her kid's best friend_, for crying out loud. She should have met him before now, known him, not _of_ him. But it had never happened; Misao didn't go to Open House Night at school, and she wasn't in any of the performance clubs or organizations. She was in the Honor Society, and on the Newspaper as a staff writer, but that was it. The Honor Society banquet for Kaoru and Misao wouldn't happen for another year, until all their community service hours were in, and Kaoru wasn't on the paper. Birthday parties in the more traditional sense had stopped when Kaoru had started middle school; parents dropped their kids off at the house, and picked them up later when the party was over, most times never getting out of their cars unless the families had been friends for years. And lately, the kids went out to eat dinner, away from the adults. Kaoru and Misao had become friends right about the time that things had started changing, and it had just never occurred to Tokio that she ought to make an effort to know who Misao's parents were, not when Misao was over at her house more than Kaoru was at Misao's.

But the really mortifying thing was that he'd asked her out to dinner, and she had accepted.

She had never felt so stupid in her life, not even when Koshijirou's mother had done her worst belittling.

Misao turned back to Tokio, looking confused.

"I missed something," she said, and Tokio sighed and held out a hand.

"You and me both, kid," she said with a rueful smile. "Come on. He'll be back in a little bit."

Misao sighed, then walked to Tokio, who slid an arm around her and gave her a squeeze.

"So that's your dad, huh?" she asked as they walked back toward where Tokio had set everything up.

"Yeah," Misao muttered with a touch of despair.

"He's very normal looking, for a dragon," Tokio mused mischievously, and Misao burst out laughing.

_XoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoX_

Oh gods in the heavens and the hells.

Saitou swore under his breath and knocked his head against the wall by the elevators, furious and embarrassed and paralyzed with indecision.

"What are the fucking odds?" he muttered, slamming his forehead into the wall hard enough to see stars, and he leaned his head against the wall with a whimper of distress.

It was so humiliating to find out that Hot Lips—and that nickname was suddenly mortifying and _so_ horribly inappropriate—was the mother of his daughter's best friend. It was even more humiliating that he had never connected the mother to the daughter: Kaoru was a carbon copy of her mother. To be fair, Saitou had no real interest in Kaoru past knowing that the girl was a nice kid who had been raised well. Having deduced that information from the way Kaoru acted the few times she'd been around him, he had promptly lost interest in knowing anything else about her. It was the same way he evaluated all of Misao's friends—the ones she brought to the house, anyway—and it was a system that worked for them. He had never thought about changing it, and though his daughter had occasionally bemoaned his reclusiveness, Misao didn't seem to mind it over-much.

Then again, he had never accidentally asked any of his daughter's friends' mothers out for dinner, either.

At the reminder of his indiscretion—however unintended—Saitou groaned. This was so completely inappropriate, and totally unacceptable. The only option left to him was to cancel their…well, date, he finally admitted. Because there were just some things he wasn't comfortable discussing with his daughter, and the realities of his dating life was one of those things.

And it was going to be awkward and embarrassing, and even if it took a very respectably quick-and-painless three minutes it was going to be positively agonizing, but there was no way he was going to go out to dinner with the mother of his daughter's best friend—that way lay madness and further embarrassment should things take a bad turn.

_It figures_, he thought more than a little bitterly, _that the first woman I ask out in years ends up being off-limits_.

_XoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoX_

Tokio managed to put Misao's dad—and that was a much safer way of thinking of him than she had been—from her mind while she did Misao's cleaning and X-rays. Misao herself was quite helpful in that regard, regaling Tokio with stories from her day at school and an update on Kamatari's love life whenever she could speak. The girl was inordinately cheerful, even for her, and Tokio had an idea it had a lot to do with realizing it was _Tokio_ that her father was taking to dinner. Tokio, however, had some doubts that dinner was still a go.

The man's reaction to her identity did not bode well.

And really, Tokio reluctantly admitted as she moodily watched Dr. Wong conduct Misao's check up, it was sort of inappropriate, wasn't it? After all, Kaoru and Misao were best friends, and it would be really weird if any relationship that were to come of this dinner should go south further down the road. And Tokio had always made it a point to never date any of the single parents at her children's schools, so as to avoid awkwardness and scenes. And maybe that seemed premature—who knew, the man might be a bore over dinner, and she would have worried over nothing—but Tokio wasn't willing to bank on a chance, not in this.

High school was hard enough without adding complications from your mother's love life to the mix.

It really sucked, though. She liked the Professor—_Misao's dad_, she mentally corrected—a lot. He was a little on the morose side, but he cheered up some while they talked, and what little she knew of him, she had liked immensely. It was important to her to really, honestly like the person she had a relationship with, important to her that they could be friends as well as lovers.

So much for that.

"Tokio, can you grab Mr. Saitou and have him meet us in my office?" Dr. Wong asked, bringing her out of her head.

Antonio Wong was a Chinese Cuban who was fluent in Spanish, Chinese and English. Tokio had been working for him since she'd gotten her dental hygienist's certificate, and over the years, they had become good friends; he had cheerfully taught her how to speak Spanish—"Actually, you might say it's strictly Cuban, because if you try talking to another speaker they probably wouldn't get half of it," he had joked once—and they practiced their Mandarin with each other daily. He had been the first in his family to get a university degree, and he had been the first to flee Cuba the first chance he got. Over the years, Tokio had met other relatives who had come to the U.S. via questionable means; two of his cousins helped Wong with the books when tax season rolled around, since they had been accountants in Cuba, and a third was working for Tokio's family.

Currently, he was watching her rather speculatively, and she knew he was going to grill her about what was wrong as soon as he was done with Misao.

Tokio wasn't looking forward to it.

"Sure thing," she said with a smile she didn't feel, and she left them to head back to the waiting room.

When she opened the door and poked her head out, she immediately saw Misao's dad sitting in a chair, leaning forward with his hands clasped between his legs as he glared at his shoes. When the door opened, he looked up, and then flushed when he saw her. Tokio felt her own face heat and tried to ignore it as much as possible.

Gods in hell, this was so _humiliating_…

"Mr. Saitou, Dr. Wong wants to talk to you in his office," she said, hiding behind professionalism because it was all she had left to save her from this terrible awkwardness.

His eyes darted to the receptionist's desk, then back to her, and Tokio felt a moment of foreboding.

"We need to speak," he said quietly.

"Dr. Wong is waiting—" she said.

"_Now_ would be best," he emphasized, and she gathered he didn't want to talk to her in front of Misao.

Not that she could blame him, really, but she so totally didn't want to have this super-embarrassing conversation now, at _work_ of all places…

"Okay," she murmured, stepping out into the waiting room and shutting the door leading into the office proper behind her.

He rose, went to the outer door and opened it for her, and she walked by him, knowing Omasu was going to definitely pump her for information as soon as work was done for the day.

They walked a ways down the hall in stifling silence, and then Misao's dad turned to her and abruptly said, "Dinner is completely inappropriate and a terrible idea."

Even though she had been thinking the exact same thing, Tokio was blindsided by the way he dove right in, and it apparently showed on her face because he grimaced.

"Shit," he muttered, running a hand over his face. "I'm sorry, I was going to be a lot less of an asshole about this—"

"It's okay," Tokio said, holding up a hand. "I agree, you just surprised me."

"Good," he said, looking relieved, and Tokio had an urge to kick him really hard all of a sudden for being so relieved, but she ignored the impulse.

No need to make things any _worse_, after all.

"So dinner's off, then," he said.

"Looks like," she said, looking down the hallway. "Probably in our best interests to just make sure it stays off, permanently."

"Absolutely," he agreed.

"Okay then," she said.

There was a long, suffocating stretch of uncomfortable silence, and Tokio mourned, for a moment, the death of the once easy and comfortable pseudo-friendship they had built up over the last six months.

They were never going to be able to be normal around each other ever again.

"Well, Misao's dad, Dr. Wong is waiting for you," she said finally, tugging at the hem of her scrubs blouse. "She had a good checkup, he just wanted to talk to you."

"Right, good," he said lamely. "Okay. Thanks…Kaoru's mom."

Tokio jerked her head once, then turned on her heel and walked back to the suite, Misao's dad a few steps behind her. They walked back into the office silently, and Tokio took him to Dr. Wong's office door, knocked, then poked her head in.

"That was a while," he noted when she appeared, and she smiled thinly at him.

"Misao's dad was on the phone," she lied. "He's here now, though. Ready for him?"

"Absolutely," Dr. Wong said with a smile as he stood, and Tokio nodded, then moved away from the door and waved Misao's dad in without looking at him.

He walked in and she shut the door behind him, then beat a hasty retreat to the bathroom, because she felt her eyes tearing up and she didn't want to be caught crying by Omasu, or worse, Misao and her father.

_XoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoX_

There was no sign of Kaoru's mom when they left Dr. Wong's office, and Saitou felt bad. He hadn't meant to be so blunt with her, but he hadn't been able to help himself; it was rare for him to feel so out of his depth, and it had made him more abrupt than usual, but that was hardly an acceptable excuse.

She had looked just as uncomfortable and mortified, after all, and she had managed not to be a bitch.

He paid the woman at the front desk, who eyed him curiously; he ignored her gaze, settled his bill and filled out the post card Wong's office was going to send the next time Misao was due for a checkup, and then he and Misao left…though not before Misao, who had been obvious in her attempts to look for Kaoru's mom, finally gave up and said to the girl at the desk, "Hey, Omasu, can you tell Tokio I said bye?"

"Sure thing, hon," Omasu said with a smile and a nod, and Misao smiled faintly back before saying her goodbye to the woman and heading out the door he was holding open for her.

"Dad, I didn't know you knew Tokio!" Misao exclaimed excitedly as soon as the door was shut, and Saitou rounded on her.

"Not. Another. Word," he snapped, and Misao's enthusiasm died immediately. "Do you hear me? Not one more word."

"Okay," she said in a subdued voice, gaze dropping to the floor, and Saitou sighed and scrubbed both hands over his face.

"Goddammit," he muttered. "I'm sorry, Misao, okay? This is just not a good time."

She peeked up at him through her bangs, then nodded and toed the linoleum flooring.

"Okay."

Saitou watched the top of his daughter's head and decided that today was apparently what Misao had once called an "Ogre Day."

He definitely felt like one, at any rate.

They trudged back to the car silently, and Saitou might have enjoyed the unusual quiet if it hadn't been because he had snapped at Misao. Which wasn't such an odd occurrence, really, except that he had no business turning on her the way he had. What had happened with Kaoru's mother was very much his fault, and taking out his sense of frustrated embarrassment on Misao wasn't fair.

And all of his dealings with his daughter had always been, if nothing else, fair.

"Dad?" Misao asked once the heater had finally warmed up some, and they were carefully pulling out of the parking lot.

"Yes?"

"…can I ask you one question?"

Saitou looked over at Misao out of the corner of his eye. She was watching him through her bangs, green eyes solemn, face as serious as it had been the day he and Yaso had told her they were getting divorced.

"One question," he said with a nod. His tone conveyed that one question was all he would answer or tolerate.

"Is Tokio who you're gonna go to dinner with?"

He was absently glad she had refrained from calling it a date, although he knew that was entirely due to the reaction he had had in the hallway outside Wong's office.

"Was," he corrected flatly.

Misao's eyes went huge. "_Was_?" she repeated. "Dad, did you—?"

"One question, Misao," he said with a glare, and she huffed and sent him a look he interpreted as her being upset at him before she began ignoring him in favor of looking out the window.

And since that was fine by him, Saitou did absolutely nothing to end the silence in the car between them.

For Misao's part, she was irritated and appalled at her father, mostly because she knew what he was like when he was angry or worse, flustered (not that she had seen the latter very much; the only time she could recall in recent memory was when she had had her first period at thirteen, and he had looked equal parts horrified and embarrassed to have to deal with it. Thankfully the experience hadn't been scarring for either of them…she didn't think, anyway).

When Hajime Saitou was off-kilter, he had a tendency to act like a huge jerk. It was one of his worst qualities, and Misao had been nagging him about it for years, not that it had made a discernible difference in his behavior that she could see. But Misao was pretty used to her father reacting that way, so she could (and did) ignore it when it happened. But poor Tokio probably hadn't known what had hit her, and she knew it had probably been pretty ugly if he was still so out of sorts.

Misao wished she had been able to see Tokio before they had left, but she probably hadn't wanted to see them, or more accurately her father, again. Kaoru's mother had never been anything but nice to her, and it was mortifying to think that her father might have chapped the older woman's ass with his bad temper because he had been embarrassed.

She stewed at her father for a good fifteen minutes before she snuck a peek at him from the corner of her eye. He still looked angry, and embarrassed, and Misao suddenly felt bad for him. Saitou wasn't a bad guy, he just didn't have especially good people skills; it was the one thing Misao and her mother could agree on. He was a fabulous professor, respected and admired (and probably feared) by his students, but he was comfortable in a classroom. He wasn't comfortable one on one with strangers unless they were colleagues or students, and Tokio was neither. For Saitou to have agreed to dinner with her meant he was comfortable with her in a way he wasn't usually with people he didn't know very well.

It was just really unfortunate that Tokio happened to be Kaoru's mother, because now her father was going to treat her like a leper, assuming he ever even saw her again, and Misao would lay down money that if he did see her again, it would be an accident.

"Hey Dad?" she asked, leaning over to lay her head on his arm. "I'm sorry."

He let out a grunt, but the air seemed suddenly less stifling, and Misao resolved not to bring up the subject of his broken date with Tokio ever again.

…to him, anyway: she was definitely going to have to blow up Kaoru's phone to see if her friend had known about this development, and if so, why she had not immediately informed Misao.

_XoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoX_

Tokio stayed in the bathroom for twenty minutes, feeling like an idiot for getting so upset, but unable to help it. She had rarely been so embarrassed that her only response was to cry, but it had happened a few times over the years, usually because of Koshijirou's mother.

Misato Kamiya had hated her for a daughter-in-law and wife to her first born son, and she had made no attempt to keep it from anyone. Nothing Tokio had done was ever good enough for her mother-in-law, and she had spent more than one holiday locked in the guest bathroom at her in-law's, crying after being humiliated in front of her husband's family. Koshijirou had gotten into a few fights with his mother, and it had taken his threatening to never darken his parents' doorway with his family ever again if Misato didn't stop humiliating his wife for the abuse to lessen.

But only lessen.

Eventually, Tokio had built up enough of a resistance to Misato's disapproval that the old bat didn't send her running to cry somewhere in private.

This was a new level of humiliating, however, one that was new and entirely unpleasant, and part of it was because Misao had figured out what was going on.

She liked her daughter's best friend, and over the years had adopted her as another daughter, so this was like being outted in front of one of her kids. The fact that she had almost had dinner with the father of said pseudo-daughter, without knowing who she had agreed to go out with, just added a whole other level of mortification.

Once she was sure Misao and her father were gone, Tokio cleaned up as best she could, splashed water on her face and wiped it before she left the bathroom…

…and found Wong leaning against the opposite wall, arms crossed over his chest, expression expectant.

Tokio groaned.

"Oh come on," she whined. "Really?"

"You act way awkward with a parent—which _never_ happens—and you disappear for the whole meeting, and then I find you in the bathroom for twenty minutes? And when you come out you look like the devil? You come on, Tokio, what did you think was going to happen?" Wong replied, not unkindly.

"It's nothing," Tokio said wearily, pushed her hair back from her forehead.

"Is Dad an old boyfriend or something?" Wong asked. "If they ever come back, Omasu can deal with him—"

"He's not an old boyfriend," Tokio said in exasperation. "He's not an old anything, he's just some guy I met at the coffee shop I go to in the mornings, and I didn't realize who he was until today, and it was weird and awkward and that's all you're getting out of me, so don't bother," she added with a hard look her boss' way.

Wong eyed her from under lowered brows for several minutes, then sighed and rolled his eyes.

"Okay," he said. "But if you don't want to deal with him—"

"I'm capable of acting like an adult," Tokio said. "Omasu won't have to deal with him."

_Assuming, of course, Misao comes back to this office ever again._

"All right. If you're sure."

The great thing about Wong was also the worst thing about him: he was a worrier. And in addition to being her boss, he was also a good friend, which only doubled his propensity for worrying about her.

"I'm sure." she said with a smile, and he sent her a half smile even though she could see he still had his doubts. "Are we done for the day?"

"We're done," he said. "Go home. And Happy Thanksgiving."

"Happy Thanksgiving," Tokio returned with a genuine smile.

Omasu didn't say anything when she saw Tokio again, only helped her pick up the office along with the other hygienist, Okon. Between the three of them, they finished quickly, and quite soon everyone was heading out of the building toward the parking lot. A few snowflakes were falling, just a light dusting, and Tokio watched them drift down to earth with a sigh; if the snow kept up, she planned to sit by a window with a cup of either coffee or hot chocolate and soak up the silence when she got home, assuming her kids would allow it.

Probably not.

"Hey," Omasu said from beside her, and Tokio glanced over. "Want to talk about it?"

"No," Tokio said.

"I promise not to say a word to Koshi," Omasu said, holding up a hand. "Scout's honor."

"That's only for Boy Scouts," Tokio said, although she smiled a little.

Omasu looked offended. "Anything boys can do we can do better," she replied haughtily, and Tokio's smile grew.

"I appreciate it, but I'd really rather not talk about it, Omasu," she said with a sigh. "It's already embarrassing enough as it is."

"Did he say something?" Omasu asked suspiciously. "Should I tell Koshi? You know he'd beat him up in a heartbeat, even if the other guy is bigger."

"Yes I know, and for the love of all things holy, please don't tell him anything. Enough people already know, as far as I'm concerned." Tokio let out a weary sigh and scrubbed her hands over her face. "Oh God, Omasu, I'm so embarrassed."

Omasu smiled gently, looped arms with the older woman and tugged her toward her car.

"Come on," she said, glad she could finally repay a kindness from three years ago, although she was upset that Tokio was so upset.

Omasu had made a better impression than Tokio had on Misato when she had finally met Koshijirou's domineering mother, but she had still fallen quite short of being the perfect woman for Misato's son. Omasu had been mortified and humiliated when Misato had chided her for what she referred to as Omasu's "deplorable Japanese," and made no secret of the fact that Omasu's friendship with Tokio made her suspect.

Tokio had been at the gathering, and when Misato had finally become too abusive, Tokio had calmly stepped in, taken charge of Omasu and the two of them had left the Kamiya matriarch's home. Tokio had taken her to the coffee shop she frequented before work every morning, bought her a cup of green tea and a scone, and then let Omasu vent…for the next hour and a half.

"How the hell do you put up with her?" Omasu finally asked, and Tokio smiled kindly.

"I love Koshi," she said simply. "She's a good mother in her own way, and she loves him and he loves her back. So I put up with her because he loves her, and I love him. And now you have to decide if you love Koshi enough to do the same."

"She's so mean," Omasu said with a sniffle.

"She used to be meaner," Tokio said with a shrug. "The kids take the edge off a little. She likes you better than me, though, so that's a point in your favor."

"How do you figure she likes me at all?" Omasu asked with a huff, wiping her eyes.

"You're Japanese," Tokio said, bitterness tingeing her tone ever so slightly, and Omasu wouldn't realize what it was until years had passed. "Born here, but Mom and Pop came straight over from the island, and you still communicate with your relatives back home. You're as close to a nice Japanese girl as Misato's going to find, short of flying to Japan and picking one out herself." Tokio snorted and rolled her eyes. "And I'm sure the thought's occurred to her, probably every day of the eight years Koshi and I were married. I thought she was going to have a coronary when we told her we were getting married. She threw us out of the house, and we ended up living with my parents for a while, since they were the only set willing to help us. They helped us get our own place, and Dad bought our house for us and helped us make the mortgage payments until we could do it on our own. Trust me, there's no way she hates you the way she hates me."

Omasu stared at Tokio, wide-eyed.

"I didn't know that," she murmured.

"Koshi doesn't like talking about it," Tokio said, shrugging again. "I don't blame him, really: his mother didn't come off very well, even if it was her own fault. We didn't talk to her until after Sano was born. That helped a little. She really does love the kids. Hates that they have anything to do with me, but she does love them. It's a point in the old battleax's favor."

"How can you even stand her?" Omasu asked, appalled.

"I told you, I love Koshi. He was my friend before we were married, and I was lucky enough to keep him as a friend after we weren't married anymore. Plus, I've had years of practice dealing with Misato. She used to make me cry every time we came over for holidays, until I stopped letting it bother me. Koshi talked to her, and that helped too. He's probably giving her hell as we speak—I don't know if you know this, kiddo, but that lovable idiot's crazy about you," Tokio teased, and Omasu let out a watery laugh.

"I'm crazy about him too," she admitted, long past the point of being uncomfortable with talking to her boyfriend's ex-wife about said boyfriend (although it had been plenty weird in the beginning).

"So are you willing to overlook his unfortunate mother?" Tokio asked, smiling, and Omasu smiled back.

"I guess," she said, though she quailed a little inside at the idea of seeing Misato again.

"Atta girl," Tokio said with a nod, patting her arm. "Remember, it isn't just her forcing herself on you—it's also you forcing yourself on her. Just in the beginning. It'll ease up eventually."

"Promise?"

"I'm pretty sure," Tokio hedged. "Not wise to bet against Misato. She might make sure it goes the other way, purely out of spite."

Omasu groaned and dropped her head to the tabletop.

"Shit," she mumbled, making Tokio laugh.

And Misato had (finally) eased up on Omasu, for which she was glad. The older woman seemed determined, however, to heap as much venom on Tokio as she could every time she saw her former daughter-in-law, and Omasu couldn't understand it. Tokio had tried explaining it once, but the reason—the Anglo and Chinese blood in her mother's background—had just seemed so idiotic Omasu had had a hard time believing that could possibly be it.

Tokio had only smiled gently and said, "You were born and raised here, and your parents are from a different generation."

The drive to the coffee shop was quiet, and they didn't break that silence until they were settled at a table in the corner that gave the illusion of privacy.

"Tell me all the gory details," Omasu said. "No judgment."

So Tokio did, looking mortified and sad. When she had finished, they sat quietly for a moment, and then Omasu said, "That was a shitty way to handle it, on his part."

Tokio's lips formed a wobbly smile that disappeared as quickly as it had appeared, and Omasu felt bad for her friend; Koshi had told her how much Tokio had liked this man, and he had been excited for her, hoping that this one went somewhere.

And because but for Tokio's meddling and insistence, Omasu herself would be in the same boat, she had hoped the same.

"Well, it's his loss, then," Omasu said with a sniff.

"It sucks, but that's not the embarrassing part," Tokio said, and Omasu stared at her like she'd grown a second head.

"There's something _more_ embarrassing than his acting like you're undateable?" she asked slowly, and Tokio flushed.

"He's Misao's _father_," Tokio whined. "And I never _knew_ that until today!"

"Yeah, well, apparently you weren't missing much," Omasu said, rolling her eyes.

"We're talking about the _father_ of my _daughter's best friend_," Tokio said miserably, scrubbing her hands over her face. "I should have known this man. I should have known who he was from the second the girls became friends. What kind of mother am I that I don't even know the father of my daughter's best friend?"

"Tokio, no one would call Child Protective Services on you for not knowing Misao's dad," Omasu said dryly. At Tokio's pointed look, Omasu sighed irritably. "Fine, no one who didn't hate your guts would call Child Protective Services, but Misato doesn't count, not for the purposes of this conversation."

"I'm sure she'll have plenty to say about it when she hears," Tokio muttered.

"No one is going to tell her," Omasu said.

"No one will have to, she'll just know," Tokio said with a distasteful look on her face. "She _always_ knows when I've fucked up."

"Honey, this isn't that bad," Omasu said, reaching over and taking her hand to squeeze it. "On a scale of one to ten, this is maybe a four. Accidentally flashing your thong ranks _way_ higher."

"That happened to you, not me," Tokio pointed out. "Of course _you'd_ think it would rank higher."

Omasu sent her an exasperated look, and Tokio relented:

"Okay, fine, that was way more embarrassing. Especially since it happened in church."

"And the priest said God stays out of matters of lingerie and I should make a note of keeping my lingerie out of matters of God," Omasu muttered, and Tokio snorted and ducked her head to laugh into her lap.

Omasu ignored the fact that her friend was laughing at her, and just decided to be glad that Tokio was feeling better.

"See?" she couldn't resist saying. "This too shall pass."

Tokio sighed. "I guess," she said gloomily. "I just…"

"You just?" Omasu prompted, intrigued.

"I liked him," Tokio said, sending Omasu a helpless look. "Like, I liked talking to him. It never felt forced or weird, you know? And I just know that's how it's going to be from now on."

"It only has to be as awkward as you make it," Omasu said, shrugging, but Tokio just sighed and shook her head.

"I'm not the only person who found it awkward," she said. "And I'm not sure he's willing to pretend that nothing happened. Or if he is, it isn't the same way I'm willing to."

It was quiet for a moment, and then Omasu said, "Look, don't borrow trouble, yeah? Just let it lay for now, and deal with it when the time comes."

"I love it when I get my own advice back," Tokio said dryly, and Omasu grinned.

"It's your fault for giving such good advice," she said, and Tokio smiled back at her.

And if it was a smile still tinged with apprehension, well, Omasu decided to leave it alone; there was only so much one could do in one night over tea, after all.

_XoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoX_

Tokio felt exhausted when she walked through the kitchen door, in a way she hadn't felt since she had first started working full-time and had been struggling, in the beginning, to balance a new job with her other full-time job as Mom.

She wasn't expecting to be greeted at the door by Kaoru and Yahiko, so it was a nice surprise—or it was until Kaoru immediately asked, "Are you dating Misao's dad?"

_Today will __**never**__ end_, Tokio thought despairingly.

"Can I close the door before we get into this, Kaoru?" she asked wearily.

"Are you crazy, Mom? How could you date Mr. Saitou?" Kaoru said, her voice an octave higher than usual, which always happened when she was anxious or excited or upset.

_Apparently not_, Tokio decided, frowning.

She looked at Yahiko, who was eyeing her warily. Her youngest tended to be the least open to the idea of Tokio dating anyone, and she figured that somewhere deep down inside, he harbored hopes that his parents would reconcile and get back together. Which Tokio had always found odd, since Yahiko had never known his family that way, the way Sano and Kaoru had, had never known a time when Koshijirou lived at the house with them and Tokio was a stay-at-home mom who went on all the school field trips and was an active member of the PTA.

Tokio ignored Kaoru while she set her purse down and shrugged out of her coat and scarf and took off her gloves. She eased her boots off, set them on the rack by the door, then turned to face her daughter.

"—the most embarrassing thing you could do to me—" Kaoru was saying, and Tokio suddenly reached the limit of her ability to deal with this day.

"That's enough, Kaoru," she said, not quite snapping, but her voice was uncharacteristically sharp.

Kaoru's eyes went wide, and Yahiko took a wary step backwards.

"Mom—" Kaoru began.

"No," Tokio said. "We're not discussing this. I am not dating Misao's father, and we're not talking about this anymore. I'm going upstairs, I'm taking a shower, and then I'm going to bed."

"You don't want dinner?" Yahiko asked, surprised.

"All I want is for today to be over, and the sooner I go to sleep, the sooner that'll happen," Tokio said, walking past her children and to the kitchen stairs.

Yahiko and Kaoru watched her disappear up them, heard her walk to her bedroom and then shut the door firmly—a clear sign that their mother didn't want to be disturbed, since she never closed her door. Yahiko looked at his sister, frowning.

"Nice going, Kaoru," he said, and Kaoru glared back at him.

"Shut up," she said, though her cheeks flushed guiltily.

"You made Mom mad," Yahiko threw back. "And Sano's coming home tonight and she isn't even gonna wait up for him because you made her mad."

"She was already mad!" Kaoru snapped.

"Well you made her more mad!" Yahiko snapped back, and Kaoru flinched, then sent the stairs a guilty look.

"Yeah I did," she said finally, and Yahiko made an annoyed sound under his breath, then went over to the Crock Pot Tokio had set earlier that morning before driving him to school.

He grabbed a bowl and portioned out some of the beef stew from the Crock Pot, then covered it and set it in the refrigerator, just in case their mother got hungry later; once Sano got home, the considerable amount left in the Crock Pot was going to end up in his older brother's belly, and Yahiko didn't want Tokio to not get a chance to eat because of Sano's bottomless pit stomach.

Then, throwing his sister one last reproachful look, he turned and stomped up the stairs, resolved to go to Sano's room and wait for his older brother to get home so he could tell him what Kaoru had done.

Because while he didn't like the idea of having to share his mother with _some guy_, he liked the idea of her feeling bad even less, and he knew Sano would agree with him.


End file.
